Eleanor  Hbyt  Biaineiti 

rF.S'V 

^>w 


1IN1Y.  QF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


OL<D 


BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

Bettina 

Concerning  Belinda 

How  £ould  Tou,  Jean  ? 

^^Misdemeanors  of  tN^ancy 

fancy's  Country  Christmas 

'Personal  Conduct  of  Belinda 


'Robert  played  the  flute  beautifully.     I  had  a  real  sweet 
little  voice     .    .    .     so  he  taught  me  dozens  of  songs  " 


By 


Sleanor  Hoyt  ^Brainerd 


Garden 


York 


^  'Page  £sf  (Company 


Copyright,  1919,  by 

'Doubleday,  'Page  &  (Company 

fAll  rights  reserved,  including  that  o/" 

translation  into  foreign  languages^ 

including  the  Scandinavian 


Copyright,  1914^  by  the  Curtis  'Publiihing  Company 


TO 

OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

whose  treasured  memories  of  yesterday  have 

never  dulled  her  sympathy  with  to-day, 

these  stories,  which  are  already 

hers,  are  lovingly  dedicated 


2125871 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  She  Tells  What  It  Means 
to  Have  a  Real  (grand 
mother  3 

II.     She  Recalls  the  Greek  Slave       3 1 

III.  What  She  Misses  by  Liv 

ing  in  a  New  York  Flat       58 

IV.  She  Tells  a  Beautiful  Story 

of    Having     Company 
Down  Home      ...       81 

V.     She  Tells  Her  Own  Exqui 
site  Love  Story  .     .     .     109 

VI.  'The  Big  Christmas  Present 
That  Came  Into  Her 
Home 142 


OLT> 


CHAPTER  I 

She   Tells  What  it  Means  to  Have  a 
Real  Grandmother 

SHE  lives,  incongruously  enough, 
in  a  little  New  York  apart 
ment;  but  she  belongs  in  a 
home  of  ampler  spaces,  of  hallowed 
traditions,  of  roots  running  deep  into 
the  soil.  One  has  but  to  look  at  her 
and  straightway  scents  of  lilac  and 
syringa  come  stealing  in  through  open 
windows,  past  fluttering  curtains  of 
muslin  and  chintz.  She  rimes  with 
old-fashioned  gardens  and  mahogany 
four-posters,  with  deep  hearths  on 
which  great  logs  glow  warmly,  with 
faded  daguerreotypes  and  sun-ray 
quilts  and  spacious  attics  and  cellars, 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

apple-scented,  and  preserve  closets, 
and  linen  laid  away  in  lavender. 

For  she  is  an  old  lady,  a  genuine 
old  lady  who  has  been  well  content 
to  ripen  sunnily,  without  fighting  the 
years;  and,  because  of  the  beautiful 
acquiescence  of  her  old  age,  she  gives 
even  to  a  New  York  flat  something  of 
that  full-flavoured  serenity  which  dis 
tinguishes  a  home  from  a  place  where 
one  lives. 

She  has  worn  black  for  forty  years, 
and  the  reasons  for  her  leaving  off 
colours  and  never  going  back  to  them 
were  heartbreaking  reasons;  yet  her 
black  is  not  sombre.  No  one  could 
associate  sombreness  with  her.  The 
tears  never  quenched  the  twinkle  in 
her  eyes  and  the  aching  never  froze 
the  warmth  in  her  heart.  A  snowy 
kerchief,  fastened  by  an  old-fashioned 
cameo  brooch,  always  relieves  the 
simple  black  frock  at  the  throat,  and  a 
cap  as  white — a  cap  with  lappets — 

4 


A  REAL  GRANDMOTHER 

crowns  the  smoothly  parted,  silver 
hair.  She  has  her  vanities,  this  very 
human  old  lady,  and  the  kerchiefs 
and  the  caps  go  to  the  country  for 
their  laundering.  City  washerwomen 
and  city  soot  are  a  strong  combina 
tion,  and  caps  and  kerchiefs,  mind 
you,  must  be  white,  uncompromis 
ingly  white,  if  they  are  to  be  worn  by 
dainty  old  ladies  with  country  tradi 
tions. 

It  is  a  grief  to  the  Little  Old  Lady 
that  her  foolish  children  will  not  allow 
her  to  wear  the  plain  full  skirts  of  her 
fancy,  and  insist  upon  making  her 
gowns  conform  at  least  slightly  to 
the  fashions  of  the  passing  seasons; 
but  she  submits  cheerfully  enough,  so 
long  as  the  changes  are  not  too  radical, 
and  only  about  bonnets  is  she  un 
alterably  firm. 

Year  after  year  she  has  bonnets 
made  from  her  old  model,  ample  bon 
nets  fitting  down  well  over  her  head, 

5 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

simply  trimmed  and  tied  on  with  sub 
stantial  strings.  No  excrescences,  no 
nodding  plumes,  no  rampant  bows. 
Occasionally  a  brisk,  self-confident 
saleswoman,  with  no  sense  of  the 
eternal  fitness  of  things,  attempts  to 
sell  this  gentle,  smiling  soul  an  up-to- 
date  bonnet. 

"Why,  bless  your  heart/*  she  says 
encouragingly,  with  that  bland  and 
buxom  familiarity  which  knows  no 
reverence,  "you  don't  want  to  wear 
an  old-fashioned  thing  like  that! 
Now  here's  a  lovely  bonnet  for  you — 
just  the  thing.  Not  a  bit  too  youth 
ful.  Don't  you  get  an  idea  you're 
too  old  to  be  stylish.  There  aren't 
any  old  ladies  nowadays." 

The  Little  Old  Lady  divides  a  pity 
ing  smile  between  the  saleswoman 
and  the  bonnet. 

"Perhaps  I  am  the  last  real  old 
lady,"  she  says,  with  gentle  dignity. 
"But  I  wouldn't  want  my  grand- 
6 


A  REAL  GRANDMOTHER 

children  to  remember  me  in  that  bon 
net.  One  does  owe  something  to 
one's  grandchildren." 

There  are  many  things  about  mod 
ern  conditions  that  worry  the  dear 
woman,  but  the  grandchildren  of  the 
future  actually  tug  at  her  heartstrings. 
She  considers  that  they  are  being 
robbed  of  their  birthrights.  No  old- 
fashioned  grandmothers  are  growing 
up  for  them  and  that  thought  weighs 
upon  her. 

Once  upon  a  time  she  went  to  an 
open  meeting  of  a  famous  woman's 
club,  haled  forth  by  a  family  friend 
who  has  ideas  about  keeping  young 
through  facial  and  mental  massage. 
The  Little  Old  Lady  came  home  tired 
and  for  a  wonder  depressed — she  who 
so  seldom  shows  a  sign  of  depression. 

"Oh,  yes,"  shesaid  when  questioned, 
"the  meeting  was  lovely  and  the 
papers  were  very  clever,  but  I  couldn't 
help  thinking  all  the  time  how  glad 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

I  was  that  my  grandmother  hadn't 
been  dressy  and  excited  about  the 
drama.  I  suppose  women  are  forg 
ing  ahead.  Everybody  tells  me  that 
they  are;  but  I  do  deplore  the  condi 
tions  that  make  the  modern  woman 
necessary.  We  worked  hard  in  the 
old  days  but  no  harder  than  the 
women  work  now.  The  work  was 
different,  that  was  all.  But  it  seems 
to  me  there  were  more  happy  women 
then  than  there  are  now  and  every 
body  one  talked  about  wasn't  'on  the 
verge  of  nervous  prostration.'  Family 
life  was  sweeter  and  sounder,  too, 
though  there  weren't  so  many  theories 
about  bringing  up  children. 

"Oh  well,  the  world  has  changed 
and  women  have  had  to  change  with 
it.  I'm  not  foolish  enough  to  put  a 
spoke  in  the  wheel  even  if  I  could.  It 
will  all  work  out  right  in  God's  good 
time — but  I  do  feel  sorry  for  the 
grandchildren  who  aren't  born  yet. 
8 


A  REAL  GRANDMOTHER 

It  seems  as  if  every  child  has  a  right  to 
an  old-fashioned  grandmother." 

And  then  she  drifts  into  talk  about 
her  own  grandmother,  and,  as  we  lis 
ten,  we  begin  to  understand  and  share 
her  sympathy  for  the  generations  to 
come;  begin  to  feel  sorry  for  those  un 
born  babies  who  are  to  be  our  grand 
children  and  who  will  have  no  grand 
mother  like  this  sweet  Little  Old 
Lady,  and  no  memories  such  as  she 
has  stored  away  in  her  heart. 

"Of  course  I  had  two  grand 
mothers,"  she  says,  as  she  takes  her 
knitting  from  its  basket  and  settles 
herself  in  the  straight-backed  chair 
which  is  her  especial  property.  Loung 
ing  was  not  fashionable  in  her  young 
days. 

"But  Grandmother  Willoughby 
was  the  grandmother  we  visited  and 
Grandmother  Martin  was  the  grand 
mother  who  lived  with  us.  We  loved 
Grandmother  Willoughby.  She  was 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

little  and  fine  and  delicate  and  very 
proud  of  her  Virginia  ancestors.  Visits 
to  her  were  always  exciting  and  she 
made  wonderful  spice  cookies,  but  we 
were  just  a  little  bit  in  awe  of  her. 
She  had  such  high  standards  of  table 
manners  and  cleanliness  and  conver 
sation  !  Grandmother  Willoughby  al 
ways  used  to  make  me  feel  grubby 
and  ashamed  of  it.  Now  Grand 
mother  Martin  didn't  like  grubbiness, 
but  some  way  or  other  she  always 
seemed  to  realize  that  my  little  soul 
was  clean  and  that  the  outside  dirt 
would  come  off  with  persistent  scrub 
bing.  That  was  one  of  the  nice  things 
about  Grandmother  Martin.  She  was 
comforting  even  when  she  scolded, 
and  she  didn't  scold  very  much. 

"Maybe  she  was  more  tolerant 
than  the  other  grandmother  because 
she  hadn't  always  been  able  to  keep 
out  of  the  toil  and  dust  of  life  herself. 
She  was  sweet  and  refined  and  as  neat 
10 


A  REAL  GRANDMOTHER 

as  wax,  but  she  wasn't  the  rose-leaf 
sort.  She  and  Grandfather  had  done 
pioneering  in  their  day,  coming  over 
the  mountains,  from  Virginia  into 
Kentucky,  with  the  early  settlers  and 
making  a  home  for  themselves  in  a 
new,  rough  land.  I  used  to  love  her 
stories  about  their  first  cabin  and  its 
makeshift  comforts,  and  especially 
about  the  Indians  who  roamed  around 
the  settlement  and  would  press  their 
faces  against  the  windows  and  look  in 
at  the  family  in  the  evenings.  I  can 
remember  how  creepy  that  always 
made  me  feel,  and  to  this  day  I  hate 
to  sit  in  a  room  after  dark  with  the 
window-shades  up — though  I  reckon 
an  Indian  would  have  trouble  climbing 
up  here  to  the  eighth  floor  and  looking 
in  at  us. 

"Now,    mind    you,    Grandmother 
Martin    had   just    as    good    Virginia 
blood  in  her  veins  as  our  other  grand 
mother,  but  she  married  a  poor  man 
ii 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

and  took  her  chances  in  a  new  country 
and  she  developed  different  views 
about  what  went  to  the  making  of  a 
gentleman  or  a  gentlewoman.  The 
pioneer  life  gave  her  strength  and 
force,  but  it  didn't  crush  out  her 
sweetness.  I  should  say  not!  Why 
she  was  the  lovingest  soul!  She 
loved  everything  from  the  pigs  and 
turkeys  up.  I  never  could  love  tur 
keys.  They're  the  'ornariest'  things 
in  the  world,  but  Grandmother  loved 
them.  And  most  of  all  she  loved 
little  children. 

"She  had  a  genius  for  mothering. 
No;  I  reckon  I'll  say  that  she  had  a 
genius  for  grandmothering.  I  sup 
pose  she  had  both,  but  you  see  it  was 
the  grandmothering  I  knew  most 
about.  Mother  and  Father  had  ten 
children  and  the  next  to  the  youngest 
one  was  always  'Grandmother's  baby/ 
She  couldn't  bear  seeing  one  baby's 
nose  put  out  of  joint  by  a  newcomer; 
12 


A  REAL  GRANDMOTHER 

so  she  tried  to  make  up  to  the  one  that 
was  pushed  aside,  for  having  lost  first 
place  in  Mother's  arms,  and  I  don't 
believe  any  of  us  ever  missed  our  lost 
thrones  very  much.  I  know  I  didn't. 

"I  was  luckier  than  my  brother  and 
my  sisters  because  I  was  next  to  the 
youngest  in  our  family.  A  little  sister 
came  along  when  1  was  three  years 
old  and  I  was  promoted  to  be  Grand 
mother's  baby;  the  little  sister  went 
away  from  us  but  Grandmother's 
baby  I  always  was  until  she  said  good- 
by  to  us  when  I  was  a  big  girl.  She 
always  tucked  me  in  at  night  and 
heard  my  prayers  and  darned  my 
clothes  and  doctored  my  wounds.  It 
didn't  make  any  difference  whether 
the  scratch  was  on  my  skin  or  on  my 
feelings,  Grandmother  knew  how  to 
heal  it. 

"She  was  'Grandmother*  to  me. 
Mother's  mother  was  only  'Grand 
mother  Willoughby,'  and  there  was  a 

13 


big  gulf  between  the  two.  You  could 
get  along  without  going  on  visits  and 
eating  spice  cookies,  but  how  could 
you  get  along  without  being  tucked  in 
at  night  and  having  some  one  to  listen 
while  you  confessed  your  sins  ? 

"I  was  a  dreadful  child  on  clothes. 
It  did  seem  as  if  I  never  went  out  of 
the  house  without  tearing  something, 
and  the  nicer  and  newer  the  clothes 
were  the  worse  were  the  accidents  that 
happened  to  them.  Mother  used  to 
get  discouraged  at  times  and  punish 
me  for  carelessness;  but  Grandmother 
understood,  and  if  I  could  get  to  her 
without  any  one  else  seeing  me  she 
could  usually  patch  me  up  so  that 
nobody  else  would  have  to  know  what 
had  happened.  I  remember  there 
was  a  way  of  climbing  on  the  grape 
arbor  and  then  on  the  low  woodshed 
roof  and  scrambling  into  Grand 
mother's  room  through  a  back  window 
and  that's  how  I  used  to  reach  her 


A  REAL  GRANDMOTHER 

when  I  was  hard  pressed.  She  did 
miracles  of  mending.  I  wore  out  my 
little  stockings  at  a  most  amazing 
rate,  but  I  couldn't  wear  them  out  as 
fast  as  Grandmother  could  knit  them 
for  me.  She  could  set  up  a  pair  of 
stockings  and  finish  them  for  me  in  a 
day  when  I  was  little,  and  even  when 
I  got  to  be  a  big  girl  she  could  knit  a 
pair  for  me  in  two  days. 

"I  can  see  her  knitting-needles 
twinkling  now.  I  used  to  sit  and 
watch  them  fly,  in  the  early  evening, 
while  Grandmother  told  me  stories. 
And  then,  by-and-by,  they  would 
begin  to  blur  and  the  story  would 
wander  off  into  queer  confusions,  and 
the  next  thing  I'd  know  Grandmother 
would  be  tucking  the  bedclothes 
around  me  and  telling  me  that  she 
thought  God  would  hear  my  prayers 
if  I  said  them  in  bed.  She  wasn't  on 
as  formal  terms  with  the  Lord  as 
Grandmother  Willoughby  was — or  as 

15 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

Father  was,  either.  They  tell  me 
that  Father  wasn't  always  so  desper 
ately  religious,  that  he  was  very  gay 
and  tolerant  and  fond  of  the  good 
things  of  life  until  his  first  baby  died. 
That  changed  him.  He  was  always 
friendly  and  kind  and  hospitable  and 
everbody  liked  him;  but  as  far  back 
as  I  can  remember  religion  was  a  very 
serious  matter  in  our  family,  and 
Father  believed  that  babies  were 
never  too  young  to  have  the  fear  of 
eternal  punishment  instilled  into 
them.  I  would  have  been  terribly 
worried  about  my  soul,  when  I  was 
five  or  six  years  old  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  Grandmother.  She  used  to  tell 
me  very  reassuring  things  about  God, 
and,  though  they  didn't  seem  to  fit 
in  with  what  Father  read  out  of  the 
Bible,  I  knew  she  must  be  right.  It 
never  occurred  to  me  that  she  could 
be  wrong  about  anything.  'ff  So  I 
gradually  got  the  idea  that  somebody 
16 


A  REAL  GRANDMOTHER 

had  been  fooling  Father,  and  that  God 
was  a  nice,  friendly,  white-haired  old 
gentleman  who  looked  a  good  deal 
like  Grandmother — only  without  her 
cap — and  who  loved  little  children 
and  felt  so  badly  when  they  did  wrong 
things  that  one  really  couldn't  be  de 
liberately  bad  and  make  Grandmother 
and  Him  unhappy. 

"It  was  a  pretty  good  working  re 
ligion,  but  Father  would  have  been 
scandalized  if  he  had  known  how 
familiar  and  friendly  I  was  with  my 
Creator.  I  reckon  even  Grandmother 
would  have  been  a  little  bit  distressed 
if  she  could  have  known  just  what  my 
idea  of  God  was;  but  she  taught  me 
to  love  Him,  and  that's  a  great  thing 
for  a  child.  I've  changed  my  idea 
of  Him  considerably  since  then,  but 
I've  never  stopped  loving  Him. 

"Grandmother  was  strait-laced 
about  some  things,  though.  She 

couldn't  stand  playing  cards  and 

17 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

thought  that  any  one  who  played 
with  them  was  on  the  broad  down 
ward  path.  The  only  cards  I  ever 
saw,  before  I  married  and  went  to 
Cincinnati  with  your  grandfather, 
were  a  Queen  of  Hearts  and  a  King  of 
Spades  that  made  the  backs  to  an  old 
needle-book  of  Grandmother's.  I 
don't  know  how  in  the  world  she  came 
to  have  that  needle-book,  but  she  did, 
and  it  had  a  horrible  fascination  for 
me.  She  had  told  me  once  that  the 
cards  were  the  'devil's  picture  books/ 
and  of  course,  I  took  it  literally.  I 
wondered  and  wondered  how  Grand 
mother  ever  got  them  away  from  the 
devil,  and  I  had  a  sneaking  idea — sort 
of  half  way  between  a  fear  and  a  hope 
— that  he'd  try  to  get  them  back  some 
day  and  maybe  I'd  see  the  tussle.  Of 
course  I  knew  Grandmother  would 
be  more  than  equal  to  the  devil,  and  I 
was  sure  nothing  could  happen  to  me 
if  Grandmother  was  there  to  look  out 
18 


A  REAL  GRANDMOTHER 

for  me;  but  at  times  I  used  to  think 
about  that  fight  for  the  picture  books, 
when  I  was  in  bed  in  the  dark,  and  it 
made  my  flesh  creep.  I  never  liked 
to  have  Grandmother  carry  the 
needle-book  when  she  went  to  spend 
the  afternoon  with  neighbours  and 
took  her  sewing  along  instead  of  her 
knitting.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
lonely  country  roads  couldn't  be  safe 
places  in  the  shadowy  end  of  the  day 
for  an  old  lady  with  the  devil's  pro 
perty  in  her  reticule;  but  I  never  said 
anything  to  Grandmother  about  it — 
she  didn't  encourage  talk  about  the 
devil. 

"That  reticule  of  hers  was  a  won 
derful  bag.  I  don't  know  what  she 
would  have  done  with  one  of  the  fool 
ish  fancy  little  bags  I  have  to  carry. 
In  those  days  you  never  knew  what 
you  might  want  to  take  with  you  or 
bring  home  when  you  went  visiting, 
but  there  was  one  thing  sure:  Grand- 
19 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

mother  never  went  anywhere  without 
bringing  something  home  in  her  reticule 
for  me.  I  don't  know  what  I'd  have 
done  if  she  had  failed  me.  My  world 
would  have  seemed  topsy-turvy  and  I 
wouldn't  have  had  any  confidence  in 
the  sun's  coming  up  the  next  day. 

"If  she  went  to  the  town  twelve 
miles  away,  or  even  to  the  village  two 
miles  away,  looking  in  the  reticule 
was  tremendously  exciting.  Maybe 
I'd  find  peppermint  sticks  or  hoar- 
hound  drops  or  gum  drops,  and  candy 
meant  something  to  children  then. 
We  weren't  weaned  on  it  the  way 
children  are  now. 

"And  there  was  always  a  chance 
that  there  would  be  something  even 
better  than  candy  in  the  reticule — a 
new  hair  ribbon  for  Sundays,  or  a  nice 
long  slate  pencil,  or  a  new  pair  of 
stubby  little  brass-toed  shoes,  or  a  toy. 
Father  didn't  approve  of  toys,  but 
Grandmother  said  a  peg  top  had  never 
20 


A  REAL  GRANDMOTHER 

spoiled  any  child's  morals,  and  when 
Grandmother  really  asserted  herself 
Father  usually  backed  away.  They 
had  quite  a  set-to  one  day  when 
Grandmother  came  back  from  Madi 
son  and  brought  me  a  little  gold 
locket.  I  almost  died  of  joy  over  that 
locket,  but  Father  called  it  a  'gaud* 
and  quoted  Scripture  against  jewelry 
until  I  ran  away  to  Grandmother's 
room  and  hid,  with  the  locket  but 
toned  inside  my  pinafore  for  fear  it 
would  be  taken  away  from  me.  By- 
and-by  Grandmother  came  upstairs 
looking  exasperated.  She  sat  down 
in  her  chair  by  the  window  and  said 
something  to  herself  about  wondering 
why  the  Almighty  went  ahead  and 
made  buttercups  golden  when  there 
were  men  coming  along  who  could 
prove  to  Him  that  it  would  make  the 
grass  immoral.  I  didn't  understand, 
but  I  came  crawling  out  from  under 
the  bed,  and  when  she  saw  me  she 

21 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

laughed  and  took  me  up  in  her  lap. 
Then  she  found  a  little  blue  ribbon 
in  her  workbox  and  slipped  the  locket 
on  it  and  put  it  around  my  neck  under 
my  dress.  She  said  I'd  better  wear  it 
there  for  a  while  except  when  I  was 
going  visiting,  but  that  Father  was 
willing  I  should  keep  it. 

"My  goodness,  it  wasn't  any  won 
der  I  loved  that  grandmother!  Even 
if  she  only  went  away  to  spend  an 
hour  or  two  with  a  neighbour  she 
never  came  back  with  an  empty  re 
ticule.  She'd  always  slip  a  cooky  or 
a  piece  of  cake  or  some  nuts  or  an 
apple  into  her  bag  'for  the  baby/  I 
used  to  sit  on  the  front  stoop  watch 
ing  for  her,  with  my  elbows  on  my 
chubby  little  knees  and  my  chin  in 
my  hands,  and  as  soon  as  I'd  see  her 
shirred,  black  silk  bonnet  coming  up 
over  the  rise  of  the  hill  I'd  go  scuttling 
down  the  road  to  meet  her,  my  little 
legs  fairly  twinkling  over  the  ground.^ 
22 


A  REAL  GRANDMOTHER 

Maybe  the  apple  or  the  cooky  would 
n't  be  nearly  so  good  as  those  we  had 
in  our  own  cellar  or  pantry,  but  it 
always  tasted  better.  The  reticule 
gave  it  a  flavour. 

"I  can  remember  when  Grand 
mother  began  to  fail.  Even  at  eighty 
she  walked  briskly  and  could  ride  a 
horse  to  the  village  and  back  with 
out  feeling  any  the  worse  for  it,  but 
soon  after  that  the  years  began  to  tell 
on  her.  She  was  just  as  bright  and 
cheerful  as  ever,  but  she  seemed  con 
tented  to  sit  by  the  fire  or  by  the  win 
dow,  and  she  didn't  go  about  the  farm 
as  she  always  had.  I  couldn't  under 
stand  it  at  all  and  I  missed  her;  but 
I  knew  she  would  always  be  there  in 
the  living-room,  ready  to  listen  when 
I  would  come  in  brimful  of  wonderful 
news — and  that  was  a  very  comforting 
thing. 

"She  used  to  spin  instead  of  knit 
that  last  year.  Some  way  or  other 

23 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

knitting  hurt  her  wrist;  but  she  loved 
to  spin  on  a  little  wheel  of  her  own, 
and  she  used  to  card  her  own  wool, 
too,  though  Father  sent  his  to  be 
carded  by  machine. 

"Grandmother  would  sit  spinning 
and  spinning  and  spinning  until  it 
seemed  as  though  so  much  of  it  must 
harm  her,  and  the  friends  and  relatives 
began  to  worry  about  it.  Some  of 
them  talked  to  Father  and  told  him  he 
ought  to  keep  Grandmother  from 
working  so  hard,  and  then,  of  course, 
he  talked  to  her,  but  she  only  laughed 
and  shook  her  head  and  twirled  her 
wheel. 

"He  reasoned  and  argued  and 
begged,  day  after  day. 

"  'People  think  'you  'have  to  work 
hard/  he  used  to  say.,  'They're  tell 
ing  around  that  I  ought  to  take  better 
care  of  you  and  see  to  it  that  you  rest 
and  save  your  strength.' 

'"Eh,  lad,'  Grandmother  would 
24 


A  REAL  GRANDMOTHER 

say.  'People  will  always  be  talking, 
but  you  and  I  know  that  I  never 
could  rest  with  idle  hands.  I'll  be 
having  my  long  rest  when  the  day 
comes  that  stills  my  wheel/ 

"But  the  uncles  and  aunts  and 
cousins  kept  nagging  at  Father,  and 
at  last,  one  afternoon,  he  came  into 
the  house  looking  bothered  and  stern 
and  a  little  shamefaced.  He  walked 
right  across  the  room  to  where  Grand 
mother  sat  and  took  the  thread  out  of 
her  hands. 

"This  has  got  to  stop,  Mother/  he 
said.  *-  'You  are  killing  yourself/ 

"Then  he  picked  up  her  wheel  and 
marched  out  of  the  room  with  it. 

"She  didn't  say  a  word,  but  there 
was  a  look  on  her  face  that  made  me 
feel  like  crying,  and  all  of  a  sudden  she 
seemed  shrunken  and  tired  and  old. 
I  crept  over  to  her  and  put  my  head 
against  her  knee,  but  she  was  looking 
straight  ahead  of  her  at  something  I 

25 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

couldn't  see,  and  didn't  notice  me.  I 
felt  terribly  lonesome,  but  I  didn't 
dare  say  anything  to  her.  I  was  only 
a  child,  but  I  knew  she  was  hurt  and 
that  I  couldn't  help  her.  God  for 
give  me,  I  think  I  hated  my  father 
just  then.  You  see  I  was  too  young 
to  understand  that  even  good  men 
have  queer  ways  of  being  kind  to 
women.  By-and-by  I  knew  I  had  to 
cry,  and  I  couldn't  cry  before  a 
strange,  still  grandmother  like  that, 
so  I  ran  out  to  where  Mother  was  bak 
ing  bread  in  the  kitchen  and  threw 
myself  into  her  arms  and  sobbed  and 
sobbed.  It  was  a  long  time  before  I 
could  get  my  breath,  but  when  I  did 
I  told  her  about  Father  and  the  wheel 
and  the  look  on  Grandmother's  face. 
I  can  see  Mother  now.  She  was  the 
most  placid,  good-natured  of  women. 
Everybody  loved  her,  and  she  was 
'Aunt  Nellie'  to  every  one  in  the 
country  round;  but  she  wasn't  amiable 
26 


A  REAL  GRANDMOTHER 

because  she  hadn't  any  spirit,  not  by 
any  means.  Father  was  the  dominant 
member  of  the  family  and  Mother 
humoured  him  and  loved  him  and 
thought  he  was  the  most  wonderful 
man  in  the  world;  but  she  had  opin 
ions  of  her  own  and  she  had  a  way  of 
saying  'Robin!'  that  always  made 
Father  stop  and  think. 

"Her  face  was  flushed  from  the 
heat  of  the  fire  as  she  stood  there  in 
the  kitchen,  but  it  grew  pinker  and 
pinker  as  I  told  her  the  story  of  the 
wheel,  and  her  blue  eyes  filled  with 
angry  tears. 

"'Oh,  these  men,  these  stupid  men!' 
she  said,  wiping  her  floury  hands  on 
her  apron.  'Now  stop  crying,  child. 
Grandmother  shall  have  her  wheel.' 

"She  hurried  off  upstairs,  forgetting 
all  about  the  bread  in  the  oven.  I 
think  that  was  the  only  time  a  batch 
of  bread  was  ever  burned  to  a  crisp  in 
our  house. 

27 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

"After  a  long  time  I  heard  Father's 
voice  in  the  living-room  and  pretty 
soon  he  and  Mother  came  out  to  the 
kitchen  together.  She  had  been  cry 
ing  and  I  rather  think  he  had,  too,  and 
he  was  looking  sheepish  but  very 
much  relieved.  They  didn't  pay  any 
attention  to  me,  but  before  I  stole 
away  to  Grandmother  I  heard  him 
say:  'I'm  sorry,  Nellie,'  and  Mother 
laid  her  hand  on  his  sleeve  and  patted 
it.  *I  know,  Robin,'  she  said.  'You- 
meant  it  well,  but  men  will  never 
learn  that  a  woman,  old  or  young,  can 
stand  any  kind  of  work  better  than 
she  can  stand  a  hurt.' 

"I  didn't  think  much  about  that 
saying  then,  but  I've  understood  it 
since. 

"When  I  went  back  to  the  living- 
room  Grandmother  was  sitting  with 
her  hand  on  her  wheel,  but  she  wasn't 
spinning,  and  her  eyes  had  a  far-away 
look  in  them.  I  don't  know  whether 
28 


A  REAL  GRANDMOTHER 

she  was  looking  forward  into  eternity 
or  back  along  the  years,  but  I  was  glad 
when  she  smiled  at  me  and  said: 
'Well,  baby?' 

"My  world  seemed  straightened 
out  then. 

"It  was  only  a  few  months  later 
that  she  had  to  give  up  her  straight- 
backed  chair  and  lie  in  her  bed,  but 
she  told  me  stories,  and  I  still  ran  to 
her  the  moment  I  entered  the  house. 

"'I'm  going  away  on  a  long  journey, 
child,'  she  said  one  night.  'Will  you 
be  very  good  when  I  am  gone  ? ' 

"I  was  too  much  excited  over  the 
news  to  feel  very  badly  about  her  go 
ing. 

"Will  you  bring  me  something?' 
I  asked.  Children  are  selfish  little 
things.  Grandmother  smiled.  She 
never  misunderstood. 

"'I'll  ask  for  something  for  you, 
Dearie,'  she  said. 

"I  reckon  she  has  asked  for  it." 
29' 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

The  Little  Old  Lady's  eyes  are 
dimmed  and  she  wipes  her  glasses 
very  carefully  before  she  speaks  again. 

"Now  that's  what  I  call  a  real 
grandmother,"  she  says  at  last.  "I'm 
glad  I  was  a  child  before  they  went 
out  of  fashion." 


30 


CHAPTER  II 

She  Recalls  the  Greek  Slave 

SALLY!  Sally!" 
The  sweet  thin  voice  was 
more  highly  pitched  than  us 
ual.  Excitement  thrilled  through  it. 
With  fright  clutching  at  her  heart 
the  daughter-in-law  dropped  the  linen 
she  had  been  sorting  and  hurried  to 
the  room  at  the  end  of  the  long  hall, 
only  to  meet  reassurance  in  the  door 
way.  The  Little  Old  Lady  was  sitting 
in  her  own  comfortable  chair  by  the 
window,  the  morning  paper  in  her 
hands.  Her  cheeks  were  glowing,  her 
dear  face  was  crinkled  from  brow  to 
chin  with  smiles,  her  eyes  which  after 
so  many  years  of  watching  the  world's 

31 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD.  LADY 

ways  still  looked  out  at  life  .with  child 
like  confidence,  were  mirrors  for  happy" 
memories. . 

"Sally" — the  voice  trembled  with 
emotion — "Powers's  'Greek  Slave* 
was  sold  yesterday — sold  right  here  in 
town!" 

For  once  the  daughter's  loving 
understanding  failed.  How  should  a 
young  woman  of  this  generation  know 
anything  about  Powers's  "Greek 
Slave"?  If  it  had  been  Rodin's 
"Balzac,"  now,  or  even  that  militant 
antique,  MacMonnies'  "Bacchante" 
— but  "Powers"  and  a  "Greek 
Slave"!  Luckily  her  eloquent  silence 
went  unnoticed. 

"The  critics  don't  seem  to  speak 
very  highly  of  it" — the  fluting  voice 
held  a  note  of  indignation — "but  it  is 
a  very  wonderful  statue.  My  hus 
band  admired  it  greatly." 

There  was  finality  in  the  statement. 
So  far  as  Robert  Dale's  wife  was  con- 

32 


THE  GREEK  SLAVE 

cerned  the  status  of  the  "Greek 
Slave"  was  fixed  for  all  eternity. 

"Did  you  ever  see  it  yourself, 
Mother  ? "  The  daughter  had  her  clew 
now  but  she  was  treading  cautiously. 

A  little  cloud  of  embarrassment 
drifted  across  the  face  under  the 
snowy  cap,  but  smiles  broke  through 
and  gave  birth  to  a  delectable,  chuck 
ling  laugh,  the  laugh  with  which  the 
Little  Old  Lady  always  acknowledged 
a  joke  upon  herself  and  took  her 
hearer  into  her  confidence  about  her 
own  foibles. 

"Well,  I  glanced  at  it  once.  I  can't 
really  say  that  I  saw  it." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  let 
the  paper  drop  into  her  lap  and  smiled 
into  the  far-away  that  was  always 
so  close  to  her,  while  the  daughter 
sat  down  beside  her  and  waited. 
By  winding  and  hallowed  ways  of 
memory  a  story  was  coming  out  of 
that  far-away,  and  little  Louise  was 

33 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

not  the  only  one  in  the  family  who 
loved  her  grandmother's  stories. 

"You  see  I  was  only  seventeen." 
Memory  had  wandered  at  last  into 
speech.  "I'm  afraid  you  can't  un 
derstand,  Sally.  Things  were  dif 
ferent  when  I  was  seventeen.  You 
had  been  about  everywhere  when 
you  were  that  age,  and  Louise — well 
it  worries  me  sometimes  to  think  of 
all  that  Louise  will  probably  know 
when  she  is  seventeen;  but  I  was  just 
a  child.  I  had  never  been  farther 
away  from  home  than  Madison  and 
we  lived  only  twelve  miles  from  there. 
There  were  no  papers  for  us  then  and 
few  books,  and  Mother  and  Father 
had  very  strict  ideas  of  what  should 
be  talked  about  before  young  girls. 

"I  suppose  it  wouldn't  do  to  bring 
up  girls  that  way  now,  even  down 
there  in  the  country.  It  surely 

wouldn't  here  in  New  York.  I  can 
see  that  even  with  my  old  eyes.  Times 

34 


THE  GREEK  SLAFE 

have  changed  and  conditions  have 
changed  and  girls  have  to  live  in  the 
new  times  and  face  the  new  condi 
tions;  but  I'm  sorry  for  them,  Sally, 
just  as  I'm  sorry  for  the  new  women 
who  are  so  proud  of  their  newness. 
Bless  their  hearts!  They  are  splen 
did,  girls  and  women!  But  as  for 
their  being  finer  types  than  the  women 
and  girls  of  long  ago,  or  happier  than 
they — oh,  well,  I  suppose  I'm  pre 
judiced.  The  old  life  and  the  old 
conditions  look  better  to  me. 

"And,  whether  you  like  old-fash 
ioned  girls  or  not,  I  was  a  very  old- 
fashioned  little  girl  at  seventeen — 
shy  and  demure  and  respectful  to  my 
elders,  and  modest,  as  modesty  was 
understood  then,  and  honest  and  lov 
ing.  A  little  bit  sentimental,  I'm 
afraid,  and  more  worried  about  eternal 
punishment  than  was  absolutely  nec 
essary;  but  on  the  whole  a  happy, 
healthy,  well-behaved  child  with  a 

35 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

good  deal  of  courage  under  my  quiet 
ways. 

"If  I  hadn't  had  courage  I  should 
never  have  married  Robert  right  after 
my  seventeenth  birthday.  Not  that 
it  took  courage  to  want  to  marry  him. 
I  was  too  ignorant  to  know  that  I 
needed  courage  for  that;  but  Father 
and  Mother  were  bitterly  opposed  to 
it  and  I  was  an  obedient  child,  and  I 
had  to  be  very  brave  to  beg  for  my 
own  way  in  the  face  of  their  disap 
proval.  I  thought  they  were  unrea 
sonable  then,  but,  dearie  me,  how  well 
I've  understood  them  since;  and  how 
I  have  pitied  them! 

"I  remember,  when  my  little  girl 
was  a  baby — Robert  sat  holding  her 
one  evening.  She  was  a  delicate  little 
thing  and  he  thought  the  world  of  her. 
Our  boys  never  meant  so  much  to  him. 
She  had  been  ailing  and  fretful  all  that 
day  and  after  supper  he  had  taken  her 
from  me  and  petted  her  and  sung  to 

36' 


THE  GREEK  SLAVE 

her  until  she  fell  asleep.  I  was  sewing 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hearth, 
and,  when  I  happened  to  look  across 
at  him,  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  He 
was  a  strong,  self-controlled  man  and 
it  frightened  me  to  see  him  likejthat, 
so  I  dropped  my  sewing  on,  the  floor 
and  ran  to  him. 

"'Oh,  Robert,  what  is  it?'  I  ask 
ed — very  low,  for  I  didn't  want,  to 
wake  the  baby.  He  winked  away 
the  tears  and  laughed  at  me. 

"'It's  nothing,  Dear,'  he  said,  'only 
I  was  thinking  of  Uncle  Robin.'  He 
always  called  my  father  'Uncle  Robin'. 
'I  was 'an  awful  brute  to  him,'  he 
went  on.  'Why,  if  a  strange  man 
should  come  to  me  when  this  little 
girl  is  seventeen  and  insist  upon  carry 
ing  her  away  to  the  ends  of  the  earth 
with  him,  I'd  shoot  him  in  his  tracks.' 

"Time  and  experience  do  make  a 
difference  in  one's  ideas  about  marry 
ing,  don't  they?  But  Robert  and  I 

37 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

were  determined  to  marry  that  sum 
mer,  and  marry  we  did.  It  turned 
out  happily,  too,  but  I  know  now 
what  desperate  chances  I  took. 
Mother  and  Father  knew  then.  That's 
the  difference. 

"If  I  didn't  know,  too,  it  wasn't 
for  want  of  telling.  Everybody  beg 
ged  and  persuaded  and  warned  and 
prophesied  disaster.  Mother  and 
Father  didn't  say  much  about  the 
chances  of  Robert's  proving  to  be  a 
rascal.  I  reckon  they  knew  I  wouldn't 
listen,  and  down  in  their  hearts  they 
believed  in  him  too;  but  they  said  I 
was  too  young  to  marry,  and  I  was. 
I  wasn't  fitted  to  be  a  wife  or  a 
mother.  I  wasn't  trained  for  a  help 
mate.  I  knew  nothing  of  life  or  of 
the  world.  I  couldn't  bake  or  sew  or 
spin.  I  had  never  even  bought  a 
dress  or  a  bonnet  for  myself.  Mother 
and  Father  were  perfectly  right.  I 
ought  not  to  have  married  so  young — 

38 


THE  GREEK  SLAVE 

and  I've  thanked  God  every  day  since 
that  I  did  it.  If  I  hadn't  I'd  have 
missed  some  of  my  years  with  Robert, 
and  they  were  so  few  even  as  it  was! 
Only  twenty  years,  my  dear,  and  then 
this  long,  long  waiting;  but  they  were 
years  of  perfect  happiness.  I  wonder 
how  many  couples  who  celebrated 
their  golden  wedding  anniversary  to 
gether  can  count  as  much. 

"No;  Mother  and  Father  didn't 
try  to 'make  me  distrust  Robert,  but 
some  of  the  others  did.  I  had  an 
Aunt  Peggy.  She  wasn't  really  my 
aunt,  but  I  had  always  called  her  that, 
and  she  loved  me,  but  she  was  a  blunt, 
outspoken,  bitter  sort  of  woman.  Life 
hadn't  been  kind  to  Aunt  Peggy  and 
love  had  failed  her.  She  was  furious 
about  my  marrying,  and  said  that 
if  she  were  Father  she  would  order 
Robert  off  the  premises  and  shut  me 
up  until  I  would  listen  to  reason.  Per 
haps  it  was  a  good  thing  that  Aunt 

39 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

Peggy  never  had  the  children  she 
wanted — or  perhaps  she  would  have 
been  different  if  she  had  had  them. 
Every  time  she  could  get  hold  of  me 
she  would  fairly  beat  Jeremiah  with 
her  wailing  about  awful  things  ahead 
of  me.  She  didn't  spare  me  a  single 
calamity  she  could  imagine.  Some  of 
the  very  first  knowledge  of  the  world's 
evil  I  ever  got  came  from  those  har 
angues  of  Aunt  Peggy's. 

"She  told  me  that  I  didn't  know  a 
thing  about  Robert,  that  any  man 
could  conceal  his  real  nature  while  he 
was  courting,  but  that  he  had  lived 
for  twenty-nine  years  before  we  ever 
saw  him  and  had  gone  to  and  fro  out 
in  the  sinful  world.  She  hadn't  a 
doubt  but  that  he  had  made  friends 
with  the  mammon  of  unrighteousness. 
She  told  me  some  things  I  had  never 
known  about  the  same  mammon  and 
about  girls  she  had  known  who  had 
married  men  with  pasts  and  found  it 
40 


THE  GREEK  SLAFE 

out  too  late.  She  reminded  me  that 
Robert  wore  jewelry,  *a  seal  ring  and 
watch  chain,  Sally!',  that  he  had  con 
fessed  to  having  attended  the  theatre, 
and  she  was  sure  there  were  sinkholes 
of  iniquity  in  his  life  that  none  of  us 
had  ever  heard  of.  No  young  man 
could  live  in  a  worldly  Babylon  like 
Buffalo  and  keep  himself  unspotted 
from  the  world;  and  when  Robert 
wasn't  in  Buffalo  he  was  in  Canada. 
That  was  even  worse.  Somebody 
had  told  Aunt  Peggy  that  all  the  folks 
in  Canada  were  English  and  had  Eng 
lish  ways,  and  that  every  one  of  them 
drank  and  played  cards.  Canada 
was  as  far  away  from  us  then  as  the 
Philippines  seem  now — farther — and 
it  was  easy  to  believe  anything  about 
such  a  remote  part  of  the  world. 

"I  stood  all  that  pretty  well,  though 
I  was  a  bit  scared  about  the  drinking 
and  card  playing,  for  I  had  been 
brought  up  to  think  that  any  one  who 

41 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

did  those  things  was  damned.  Of 
course  I  didn't  believe  Robert  did 
either  of  them,  but  it  seemed  dreadful 
to  have  neighbours  who  were  so  god 
less.  Still  I  wasn't  much  impressed, 
and  if  Aunt  Peggy  had  stopped  there 
I  would  have  forgiven  her;  but  she 
didn't.  She  went  on  to  say  that 
Mother  and  Father  were  crazy  and  so 
was  I,  and  that  it  would  serve  us  all 
right  if  it  turned  out  that  Robert  had 
another  wife  somewhere,  as  he  proba 
bly  had,  and  if  I  had  to  come  back 
home  disgraced  for  life. 

"Sally,  I  forgot  all  my  early  train 
ing,  all  my  respect  for  my  elders.  I 
was  so  blazing  mad  that  I  stamped 
my  foot  at  her  and  told  her  she  was 
a  wicked,  nasty-minded  old  woman, 
and  that  I'd  never  speak  to  her  again 
as  long  as  I  lived,  and  that  I  hoped 
I'd  never  see  her  again.  It  was  a 
shocking  exhibition.  I'd  always  been 
a  quiet,  prettily  mannered  little  girl, 
42 


THE  GREEK  SLAVE 

and  she  was  so  surprised  that  she  just 
sat  with  her  mouth  open  and  stared 
at  me  till  I  ran  out  of  the  house  crying. 
I  didn't  speak  to  her  again  before  I 
married  and  went  away;  but  she  was 
with  me  when  my  third  baby  came; 
and  she  used  to  tell  me  that  no  woman 
in  the  world  deserved  as  good  a  hus 
band  as  I  had,  but  that  it  was  a  case 
of  'a  fool  for  luck/ 

"I  didn't  believe  a  thing  she  had 
said  or  hinted  about  Robert,  but  I 
suppose  things  like  that  stick  some 
where  in  one's  mind  and  wait  for  a 
chance  to  jump  out  and  make  faces. 
Well,  I  was  married  in  spite  of  all  the 
opposition,  and,  though  I  was  sorry  to 
leave  Mother  and  Father  and  the 
others,  I  loved  Robert  so  that  I  hadn't 
the  faintest  shadow  of  a  misgiving. 
Now  that  I  am  old  I  cry  a  little  some 
times  over  the  innocence  and  faith  of 
that  foolish  little  bride.  It  was  all 
very  foolish  and  very  rash,  and  I  won- 

43 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

der  that  my  mother  could  kiss  me 
good-by  and  bless  me  with  a  smile  on 
her  face.  She  was  a  brave  woman, 
my  mother. 

"Our  trunks  had  been  sent  ahead 
by  wagon  and  we  rode  to  Madison 
alone,  I  in  a  little  blue  bonnet  and  my 
blue  cloth  travelling  dress,  with  a  rid 
ing  skirt  over  it.  I  had  felt  that  I 
would  rather  say  my  good-byes  there 
at  home,  so  we  left  all  the  dear  home 
folks  standing  by  the  gate  on  which  I 
had  loved  to  swing  just  a  few  years 
before.  They  were  still  standing  there 
when*we  turned  to  wave  a  last  good- 
by  from  the  top  of  the  hill,  but 
Mother's  face  was  hidden  on  Father's 
shoulder  and  his  arm  was  around  her. 
I  was  her  baby — and  Canada  was  a 
far  country. 

"It  was  a  wonderful  ride,  dear,  out 
of  my  old  world  into  a  new  one,  and  I 
hadn't  a  doubt,  not  a  doubt.  Dear 
Lord,  the  bravery  of  the  young  who 

44 


THE  GREEK  SLAVE 

are  in  love!  Our  horses  were  old 
mates  and  didn't  mind  travelling  close 
together  and  stopping  often — and  the 
sunshine,  and  the  birds,  and  the 
brooks!  I  think  all  the  world  knew 
it  was  my  wedding  day  and  wished 
me  joy." 

The  story  halted  there,  while  the 
Little  Old  Lady  rode  the  Southern 
hills  again  and  her  lover  leaned  to  kiss 
the  child  face  that  the  blue  bonnet 
framed. 

"It  was  a  long  time  ago,"  she  said 
softly,  after  she  had  dreamed  awhile. 
Dear  Lord,  the  bravery  of  the  old  who 
have  lost  what  they  loved! 

"There  were  friends  at  the  wharf  in 
Madison  to  see  us  off."  The  story 
was  flowing  on  again  now.  "And  the 
man  from  home  who  had  taken  our 
luggage  over  and  was  to  lead  our 
horses  back  was  there,  too.  I  think 
the  first  time  I  fully  realized  what  I 
was  doing  was  when  I  stood  on  the 

45 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

steamer  deck  beside  Robert  and  saw  a 
strip  of  water  widening  between  the 
boat  and  the  shore;  and  I  remember 
being  thankful  that  Father  and 
Mother  were  not  waving  to  me  from 
the  wharf.  It  seemed  to  me  I  couldn't 
have  stood  that.  I'd  have  pulled 
through  pretty  well,  though,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  my  horse,  Dixie. 
Father  had  given  him  to  me  when  he 
was  a  colt.  I  had  broken  him,  ridden 
him,  loved  him.  He  meant  home  and 
all  the  girl  life  there;  and  when  John 
Ammons,  our  farm  hand,  led  him 
away  up  the  street,  I  crumpled  up 
against  Robert  and  clung  to  him  and 
cried  against  his  coat  collar. 

"Til  make  it  up  to  you,  little  girl,' 
he  said.  Til  make  it  up  to  you; 
and  if  ever  I  fail  to  be  good  to  you  I 
deserve  to  be  shot  as  full  of  holes  as  a 
sieve.'  His  voice  was  choky,  but  he 
began  telling  me  about  the  friends  we 
were  going  to  visit  in  Cincinnati  and 
46 


THE  GREEK  SLAVE 

about  the  wedding  trip  we  were  going 
to  have  on  the  canal  boat  to  Toledo — 
there  wasn't  a  railroad  then,  you 
know,  and  I'm  glad  there  wasn't — 
and  I  soon  cheered  up  and  was  hungry 
for  supper.  Dear  me,  but  that  steam 
boat  supper  seemed  elegant  to  me! 
I  was  afraid  of  the  waiter,  but  I  don't 
think  he  knew  it.  People  used  to  say 
Robert  spoiled  me,  Sally;  spared 
me  everything,  kept  me  too  childish. 
I  reckon  he  did;  but  you  see,  for  him 
I  was  always  the  little  girl  who  cut  all 
her  anchors,  burned  all  her  bridges, 
and  set  sail  into  a  strange  world  with 
him  on  that  old  Ohio  River  boat.  He 

never  got  through  'making  it  up*  to 

» 
me. 

"He  must  have  been  a  good  man," 
murmured  Sally. 

"He  was  the  best  man  in  the 
world!"  The  Little  Old  Lady  said 
it  solemnly,  but  close  on  the  heels  of 
the  solemnity  came  a  laugh. 

47 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

"He  was  the  best  man  in  the 
world,"  she  repeated;  "but  there  was 
a  time,  there  in  Cincinnati,  when  I 
had  awful  misgivings  about  him. 
That's  where  the  'Greek  Slave*  comes 
in." 

Her  eyes  were  twinkling  now.  She 
had  put  away  sadness. 

"It  was  this  way,"  she  explained. 
"I  had  never  seen  Robert  with  people 
of  his  own  kind,  people  of  culture  and 
worldly  experience.  He  was  so  adap 
table  that  he  had  fitted  perfectly  into 
our  life  and  I  didn't  know  any  other; 
but  when  we  went  to  his  Cincinnati 
friends  I  realized  the  gulf  between 
his  world  and  mine,  and  I  don't  mind 
confessing  that  it  was  a  good  deal  of  a 
shock.  Not  that  every  one  wasn't 
nice  to  me.  Anything  sweeter  and 
kinder  than  those  Carters  I've  never 
seen.  They  acted  as  though  they 
were  as  much  in  love  with  me  as  Ro 
bert  was;  but  I  wasn't  such  a  goose 

48 


THE  GREEK  SLAFE 

that  I  couldn't  see  my  own  social 
shortcomings,  and  I  couldn't  help 
worrying  for  fear  Robert  would  be 
mortified  by  them.  When  I  found 
out  that  he  read  French,  and  when  I 
heard  Mr.  Carter  and  him  talk  about 
books  and  music  and  things  like  that, 
I  felt  so  ignorant  that  it  almost  broke 
my  heart,  and  my  old  serene  confi 
dence  in  our  happy  future  was  con 
siderably  shaken  up. 

"We  went  to  the  theatre — 'Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin'  it  was — and  I '  never 
enjoyed  anything  else  so  much  as  I 
enjoyed  that  play;  but  every  time 
I  thought  of  Father  my  conscience 
pricked  me,  and  Robert  talked  about 
the  theatre  so  that  I  knew  he  must 
have  gone  a  great  deal.  Worse  than 
that  Mr.  Carter  said  something  one 
morning  that  proved  he  and  Robert 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  playing  cards 
together.  That  was  almost  more  than 
I  could  bear.  Seems  funny  to  you, 

49 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

doesn't  it,  Sally?  It  does  to  me  now, 
but  it  was  all  very  serious  to  that 
seventeen-year-old  bride. 

"I  tried  not  to  worry,  and  when  I 
found  that  I  couldn't  succeed  in  that 
I  tried  not  to  let  Robert  know  that  I 
was  worrying,  and  I  was  radiantly 
happy  between  whiles;  so  he  didn't 
suspect  that  anything  was  wrong  until 
the  day  before  we  left  Cincinnati. 
Everybody  had  been  talking  about  a 
famous  statue  that  was  on  exhibition 
in  one  of  the  galleries,  and  Robert  had 
said  that  we  must  surely  see  it.  The 
'Greek  Slave'  it  was  called,  and  an 
American  sculptor  named  Powers  had 
made  it.  America  wasn't  very  rich 
in  home-made  art  then  and  Americans 
weren't  so  sophisticated  and  hard  to 
please  as  they  are  now.  This  statue 
had  made  a  great  sensation,  even 
among  people  who  had  seen  the  best 
art  of  the  world;  so  I  was  crazy  to  see 
it,  too,  though  I  had  never  in  my  life 

50 


THE  GREEK  SLAVE 

seen  a  statue  of  any  kind  and  didn't 
know  a  blessed  thing  about  art. 

"We  didn't  get  around  to  it  until 
that  last  day;  but  then  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Carter  and  Robert  and  I  went  down 
to  the  gallery.  I  had  on  my  best 
afternoon  dress  and  bonnet — change 
able  blue  and  gold  silk — and  a  new 
watch  and  chain  that  Robert  had 
given  me,  and  I  was  so  happy  that  my 
feet  wanted  to  dance  instead  of  walk. 
We  went  into  the  building  and  along 
a  hall  and  through  a  door  and  then, 
suddenly,  I  saw  it! 

"The  only  thing  in  the  room — 
white  against  dark  walls — a  woman, 
stark,  staring  naked,  Sally! 

"Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!  You 
can't  know.  How  could  you  ?  You've 
been  brought  up  on  nude  statues. 
Louise  has  pictures  of  them  in  her 
schoolbooks  and  her  teachers  take  her 
to  see  whole  roomfuls  of  them.  But 
— — every  fibre  of  me  quivered  under 

51 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

the  shock.  I  took  just  that  one  first 
look,  then  stood  still  with  my  eyes 
tight  shut.  The  blood  was  surging 
into  my  face  and  beating  at  my  ears. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  if  I  didn't  have 
something  to  hold  to  I  would  drop. 
I  reached  out  for  Robert,  but  he 
wasn't  there.  He  had  gone  right  for 
ward  toward  the  horrible  thing  with 
out  even  noticing  that  I  had  stopped, 
and  as  I  stood  there,  sick  with  shame, 
I  heard  his  voice: 

1  "Gracious  Heavens,  what  a  beauti 
ful  thing!'  he  said.  'What  a  piece  of 
work!  Don't  tell  me  we  Americans 
haven't  got  it  in  us,  Carter.' 

"I  felt  dizzy.  I  couldn't  believe 
my  ears.  He  wasn't  surprised.  He 
wasn't  horrified.  He  didn't  mind  my 
seeing  it.  He  liked  it!  Probably  he 
had  seen  worse  ones. 

"I  wanted  to  look  at  him,  but  I 
couldn't  without  seeing  the  creature. 
I  did  open  my  eyes  though,  and  raised 

52 


THE  GREEK  SLAVE 

them  just  a  little  so  that  I  could  see 
the  base  of  the  pedestal  the  statue 
stood  on.  I  could  see  what  Robert 
was  doing,  too.  I  knew  him  by  his 
trousers.  He  was  right  up  close  to  the 
thing  and  walking  around  it! 

"'Look  at  that  shoulder,  Carter,' 
he  was  saying.  'And  the  line  of  that 
back  and  hip.  Perfect!  Absolutely 
perfect !' 

"It  was  more  than  I  could  stand. 
I  had  believed  in  him  so  utterly,  had 
pinned  all  my  faith  to  him,  had  been 
so  sure  that  he  would  shield  me  from 
everything  harmful,  had  given  up 
everything  and  everybody  for  him; 
and  I  had  been  mistaken  in  him  all  the 
time.  He  wasn't  good.  He  wasn't 
pure.  All  the  warnings  I  had  laughed 
at  came  flooding  back  to  me.  Aunt 
Peggy's  prophecies  jumped  out  from 
the  corner  of  my  brain  where  they  had 
been  hiding.  Maybe  all  the  rest  was 
true.  He  had  lived  in  Buffalo  and 

53 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

he  had  gone  to  theatres  and  he  had 
played  cards  and  he  could  take  me 
to  look  at  a  statue  of  a  shameless 
woman  with  no  clothes  on,  and  could 
walk  around  it  and  praise  it.  Maybe 
he  did  have  another  wife  somewhere. 
How  could  I  tell?  And  it  was  too 
late  now.  I  wouldn't  believe  any  one. 
I  would  marry  him — and  I  had  mar 
ried  a  monster! 

"My  heart  swelled  almost  to  burst 
ing  point  and  the  tears  began  to  slide 
down  my  cheeks.  Yes,  you  can  laugh 
at  her.  I  can  laugh  at  her  now  my 
self;  but  there's  something  very  pitiful 
about  her,  when  you  stop  to  think — so 
young  and  so  very  ignorant  and  so 
helplessly  dependent  upon  the  good 
faith  of  one  mere  man." 

There  were  tears  in  the  Little  Old 
Lady's  own  eyes  as  she  looked  back 
at  the  weeping  little  bride  in  her  blue- 
and-gold  silk  frock  and  bonnet;  but 
laughter  was  shining  through  the  mist. 

54 


THE  GREEK  SLAVE 

"Little  imbecile!"  she  said  ten 
derly.  "That  was  the  only  unhappy 
time  in  my  whole  married  life,  Sally, 
the  only  time  I  was  unhappy  because 
of  my  husband,  I  mean.  I  was  soul 
sick,  shocked  to  the  core,  outraged, 
frightened  beyond  the  understanding 
of  any  modern  girl;  but  I  was  proud, 
too,  and  ashamed  to  cry  in  public;  so 
I  slipped  out  into  the  shadowy  hall, 
and  Robert  found  me  sobbing  in  the 
darkest  corner  under  the  stairs  when 
he  came  out  to  look  for  me. 

"He  was  astonished  at  first,  just 
for  a  moment.  Then  he  understood. 
He  was  the  sort  of  a  man  who  could 
understand,  God  bless  him!  He 
didn't  scold,  he  didn't  tease,  he  didn't 
argue,  he  didn't  even  go  back  to  find 
the  Carters.  He  just  tucked  me 
under  his  arm,  left  a  message  with  the 
doorkeeper,  called  a  carriage,  and  took 
me  home.  Some  way  or  other  I 
couldn't  feel  that  he  was  a  monster 

55 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

when  my  head  was  against  his  coat 
sleeve  and  he  was  holding  my  hand 
tight  under  the  lap  robe. 

"Even  when  we  were  alone  in  our 
own  room  he  didn't  try  to  prove  that 
I  was  silly.  That  wasn't  Robert's 
way.  He  sat  down  in  a  big  chair 
and  took  me  in  his  arms  and  said: 
'You  poor  child,  you  poor  frightened 
child!  What  a  brute  I  was  not  to 
realize!'  You  see  he 'did  understand. 

"But  when  I  had  cried  my  cry  out, 
and  was  quiet  and  comforted,  he  tried 
to  make  me  understand"  something 
about  the  purpose  of  art,  tried  very 
patiently  and  tenderly  to  make  me  see 
that  purity  is  a  matter  of  soul,  not  of 
cloth,  and  that  beauty  and  truth  may 
go  naked  in  art,  though  clothes  are  an 
accepted  convention  in  our  society. 
I  didn't  understand  it  all.  I  don't 
yet.  Youthful  habits  of  mind  hold 
one,  and  I  like  my  statues  and  pic 
tures  draped;  but  in  the  end  I  did 

56 


THE  GREEK  SLAVE 

understand  that  one  might  admire  a 
nude  statue  without  being  impure  in 
heart  or  mind,  and  that  Aunt  Peggy 
was  no  sort  of  a  prophet. 

"I  was  quite  happy  by  the  time  the 
Carters  came  home;  but  do  you  know, 
Sally,  I  had  cried  such  spots  on  the 
front  of  that  silk  dress  that  Robert 
had  to  get  me  a  new  one  in  Buffalo? 
— rose  and  lavender  with  a  little  sprig 
through  it,  much  prettier  than  the 
other  and  made  in  the  very  latest  city 
fashion.  After  that  I  couldn't  even 
bear  the  'Greek^Slave'  a  grudge. 

"I  wish  I  had  known  she  was  on 
exhibition  last  week.  I'd  like  to  have 
one  real  good  look  at  her." 


57 


CHAPTER  III 

What  She  Misses  by  Living  in  a  New 
York  Flat 

THE  Little  Old  Lady  will  never 
be  reconciled  to  the  way  of  life 
in  a  New  York  flat. 
She  admits  that;  but  she  can  be 
happy  where  love  is,  and,  since  she  has 
called  it  "home,"  our  little  eyrie  is  so 
full  of  love  that  the   precious   stuff 
oozes  out  into  the  halls  and  finds  its 
way   down   to   the   dark   and   grimy 
fastnesses  where  a  surly  and  none  too 
temperate  janitor  lurks  and  growls. 

Didn't  the  Little  Old  Lady  herself 
venture  boldly  into  that  same  remote 
and  awesome  region,  the  last  time  the 
janitor  got  drunk  and  beat  his  wife? 

58 


A  NEW  YORK  FLAT 

Didn't  she  doctor  the  poor  woman's 
bruises  of  heart  and  body?  And 
then,  standing  straight  and  fearless 
and  dainty  among  the  boilers  and  coal 
bins  and  high-piled  debris,  and  look 
ing  :Jike  a  pocket-edition  accusing 
angel,  didn't  she  lovingly  but  unspar 
ingly  read  the  riot  act  to  that  burly, 
half-drunk  Irishman  until  he  blub 
bered  like  a  bad  but  remorseful  small 
boy  and  made  pledges  which  he  actu 
ally  kept  ? 

"But  you  must  promise  me  that 
you  won't  go  down  to  that  brute 
again,  Mother,"  said  the  head  of  the 
family,  when  the  Little  Old  Lady 
came  back  pink-cheeked,  excited,  opti 
mistic,  from  her  secret  expedition 
and  told  where  she  had  been. 

She  did  not  promise. 

She  only  looked  at  him  indulgently 
and  said,  with  a  serene  smile: 

"Robert,  I  have  met  many  men  un 
der  many  conditions  during  my  life, 

59 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

and  I  have  never  found  one  who  de 
served  to  be  called  a  brute." 

She  never  will  meet  one.  The 
man  beneath  the  brute  will  always 
answer  to  her  call. 

When  she  goes  out  of  the  house  the 
coloured  hall  boys  and  elevator  boys 
fall  over  each  other  in  their  eagerness 
to  be  of  service  to  her.  She  knows 
all  about  their  families  and  their  best 
girls  and  their  aspirations,  and  she 
doctors  their  colds  and  toothaches, 
and  she  sends  them  saucers  of  ice 
cream  when  there  is  any  left  from 
dinner,  and  she  has  wheedled  Bella, 
coloured  cook,  into  seeing  that  the 
night  boy  always  has  a  cup  of  hot  coffee 
before  he  goes  off  duty  in  the  chill 
gray  of  the  early  morning. 

Toward  Bella  herself  the  Little  Old 
Lady  is  kindly  but  firm,  so  firm  that 
the  other  members  of  the  family  mar 
vel  at  her  courage,  and  allow  her  the 
privilege  of  breaking  to  the  dusky 
60 


A  NEW  YORK  FLAT 

handmaiden  all  tidings  calculated  to 
ruffle  an  uncertain  Afro-American  tem 
per.  The  kitchen  lion  lies  down  like 
a  lamb  when  the  Little  Old  Lady  deals 
with  her. 

As  for  the  family — well,  the  family, 
from  Misery  the  cat,  who  "loves 
company"  well  but  loves  the  Little 
Old  Lady  better,  to  the  man  who  does 
sometimes  come  home  from  business 
with  nerves  that  need  soothing,  all 
are  the  devoted  slaves  of  Granny. 

Yes,  we  call  her  "Granny."  She 
likes  it.  There's  an  old-fashioned 
homeliness  about  the  word  that 
matches  her  caps  and  her  kerchiefs  and 
her  spirit. 

But,  with  all  our  loving,  the  Little 
Old  Lady  is  not  content.  She  yearns 
for  neighbours.  She  wants  friendly 
folks  to  run  in  unceremoniously  with 
news  of  all  the  little  happenings  in 
their  homes.  She  wants  to  be  called 
into  consultation  about  children's 
61 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

ailments  and  about  domestic  prob 
lems,  to  send  arrowroot  jelly  and 
broths  to  invalids,  to  share  the  hopes 
and  joys  and  sorrows  and  fresh  cookies 
of  the  fellow-humans  who  live  'round 
about  her — and  she  girds  against  the 
walls  that  an  unnatural  mode  of  life 
has  built  up  between  her  and  those 
for  whom  her  heart  has  room,  no 
matter  what  they  may  be. 

One  afternoon,  when  she  had  been 
sitting  quietly  by  the  window  looking 
down  into  a  street  that  teemed  with 
nurses  and  perambulators,  she  sighed 
wistfully. 

"To  think,"  she  said,  "that  there 
are  babies  being  born  every  minute 
in  this  town  and  that  I  haven't  a 
blessed  thing  to  do  with  warming 
flannels  for  any  of  them." 

That  is  just  it.  She  longs  to  have 
a  hand  in  the  warming  of  flannels  for 
all  the  material  and  spiritual  babies 
in  the  world. 

62 


A  NEW  YORK  FLAT 

And  the  rest  of  us,  who  would  not 
dream  of  speaking  to  any  of  the  other 
tenants  in  the  house  for  fear  they 
might  not  be  above  reproach,  haven't 
the  heart  to  reason  with  the  Little 
Old  Lady  when  she  nods  smilingly 
across  the  court  to  the  plump  woman 
whose  hair  is  too  blond  and  whose 
kimono  is  too  gay,  but  who  has  a 
window-box  of  which  she  takes  tender 
care;  or  when  she  stops  a  nurse  and  a 
baby  in  the  hall  to  inquire  about  the 
mumps  with  which  the  baby's  sister 
is  wrestling,  or  even  when  she  exclaims 
in  distress  over  the  cough  of  a  pink- 
shirted,  check-suited,  fishy-eyed  man 
who  happens  to  go  up  in  the  elevator 
with  her,  and  tells  him  just  how  to 
have  his  wife  make  onion  sirup  for 
him. 

It  was  on  a  spring  day,  when  the 

trees    and    shrubs   were    budding    in 

Riverside    Park    and    a    little  April 

breeze  was  setting  the  surface  of  the 

63 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

river  aquiver  and  a  host  of  children 
were  shouting  for  joy  along  the  paths 
and  on  the  greening  lawns,  that  the 
Little  Old  Lady's  neighbourly  heart 
received  its  deepest  wound. 

She  had  been  out  for  a  walk  in  the 
park  with  Louise,  her  namesake  and 
favourite  grandchild,  and  she  came 
home  better  attuned  to  the  lilt  of  the 
spring  than  was  the  fourteen-year-old 
granddaughter. 

As  they  left  the  elevator  she  noticed 
scattered  leaves  on  the  hall  floor,  and, 
always  a  careful  housewife,  she  turned 
in  the  doorway  for  a  mild  reproof. 

"The  hall  is  not  quite  tidy,  James," 
she  said. 

James,  the  elevator  boy,  smiled 
apologetically. 

"No'm.  It  ain't  skasely.  I'm  go- 
in'  to  see  to  that  right  away.  The 
funeral  it  made  consid'ble  mess  'n'  I 
ain'  had  time  yet,"  he  said. 

"What    funeral?"    the   Little   Old 

64 


A  NEW  YORK  FLAT 

Lady  asked,  with  a  startled  look  in 
her  eyes. 

"Mister  Bellows,  'm — in  there." 
He  pointed  to  a  door  an  arm's  length 
from  the  one  in  which  she  was  stand 
ing. 

"Yass'm.  He's  bin  sick  nigh  five 
weeks  'n'  he  died  las'  Monday.  The 
Masons  they  buried  him  fine,  this 
mornin'.  They  all  brought  heaps  o' 
flowers.  Yass'm,  they  suttinly  did  do 
him  fine." 

The  Little  Old  Lady  fled  through 
the  open  door  without  a  word  and  did 
not  stop  until  she  had  reached  her  own 
room  and  closed  its  door  behind  her. 
Even  Louise  did  not  try  to  follow 
her.  She  knew  there  were  times  when 
Granny  wanted  to  be  alone. 

We  found  her  sitting  in  her  arm 
chair  when,  a  little  later,  we  went  into 
her  room.  She  had  taken  off  her 
bonnet  and  coat  and  smoothed  her 
hair  and  put  on  her  snowy  cap,  but 

65 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

she  did  not  look  quite  like  the  Little 
Old  Lady.  She  had  no  smile  for  us 
and  her  eyes  held  a  hurt  and  she 
seemed  very  tired. 

"You've  done  too  much,  dear," 
said  her  daughter-in-law,  gently. 

A  flush  crept  into  the  white  face. 
The  Little  Old  Lady's  backbone 
stiffened  with  a  snap. 

"Done  too  much,  Sally?  I've  done 
too  little.  That's  what  hurts.  I 
haven't  done  my  Christian  duty. 
Right  beyond  that  wall" — she  pointed 
at  the  rose-flowered  wall  of  her  little 
bedroom — "there's  been  sickness  and 
suffering  and  death.  Just  the  other 
side  of  that  wall,  Sally.  I've  been 
sitting  here  snug  and  happy,  and  not 
six  feet  away  from  me  a  woman's 
heart's  been  breaking.  I've  been 
lying  down  peacefully  to  sleep  every 
night,  and  in  there  she's  been  fighting 
for  her  husband's  life — and  losing  the 
fight,  poor  soul.  And  I  never  helped. 
66 


A  NEW  YORK  FLAT 

I  never  so  much  as  said  a  prayer  for 
her.  I  never  even  knew,  Sally.  I 
can't  live  this  way.  It's  wicked.  It's 
inhuman.  It's  monstrous.  God  never 
intended  it. 

"When  I  think  that  maybe  there 
are  dozens  of  women  in  this  one  big 
house,  under  the  same  roof  with  me, 
needing  sympathy  and  love  and  help 
as  much  as  the  woman  in  there  does, 
it  seems  as  if  I'd  go  crazy. 

"I  reckon  I'll  either  have  to  get  at 
them  or  go  away  somewhere  where  I 
won't  feel  them  tugging  at  me." 

Her  voice  was  choked.  There  were 
tears  running  down  her  cheeks. 

"  But,  Mother,  they  have  their  own 
families  and  friends." 

The  Little  Old  Lady  looked  at  her 
daughter-in-law  across  a  gulf. 

"You  don't  understand,  child — 
not  yet.  Maybe  you  never  will,  for 
you've  never  known  what  real  neigh 
bours  are — but  families  and  friends 

67 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

aren't  enough.  One  needs  humanity, 
Sally.  It's  the  everlasting  fellowship 
that  counts.  If  Christ  had  just  loved 
Mary  and  Joseph  He  wouldn't  have 
done  much  for  the  world. 

"It's  loving  out  beyond  your  very 
own  that  tells — loving  out  and  out 
and  out  as  far  as  you  can  reach,  and 
there's  no  telling  how  far  love  will 
reach.  And  neighbouring  is  the  be 
ginning  of  it.  God  help  the  world 
when  neighbouring  dies  out!" 

Louise  had  dropped  on  the  floor 
beside  the  Little  Old  Lady's  chair  and 
laid  her  smooth  cheek  against  one  of 
the  slender,  wrinkled,  old  hands. 

"But  what  do  they  do  when  they 
neighbour,  Granny?"  she  asked. 

"You  poor  ignorant  child,"  said 
Granny;  but  a  smile  crept  into  her 
eyes  and  it  sweetened  there  as  memory 
went  back  along  the  years  and  found 
old  neighbours  lingering  in  the  Land 
of  Long  Ago. 

68 


A  NEW  YORK  FLAT 

"What  do  they  do?"  Memory 
was  busy  there  in  the  past.  "They 
help  each  other  to  live,  dear.  That's 
what  they  do  when  they  neighbour." 

She  was  quiet  for  a  while,  but  one 
could  afford  to  wait  for  the  Little  Old 
Lady's  stories  of  that  Land  of  Long 
Ago. 

"I've  always  had  good  neighbours," 
she  began  at  last.  "Even  after  I 
came  North  with  my  husband  I  found 
them  in  Canada,  and  in  Iowa,  and 
wherever  we  went — but  we  did  not 
live  in  cities.  I'm  glad  of  that.  Yes; 
we  found  good  neighbours;  but  when 
I  think  of  neighbours,  some  way  or 
other  my  mind  always  goes  back  to 
southern  Indiana.  I've  wondered 
sometimes  whether  there  was  even 
another  place  in  the  world  where  folks 
neighboured  as  they  did  down  there 
along  the  Ohio  River  when  I  was  a 
girl. 

"We  lived  in  the  country,  you 
69 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

know,  but  there  was  a  village  two 
miles  east  of  Father's  farm  and  an 
other  three  miles  west,  and  there  were 
plenty  of  farms  close  around  us.  I 
wish  you  could  have  seen  it,  Sally, 
before  things  changed.  Robert  can 
remember  a  little  about  it,  and  I — 
why,  in  my  heart  I  really  live  down 
there  now  and  everything  is  just  as 
it  was  then  and  I  love  it  so,  not  that 
I  don't  like  being  with  you  and  Robert 
and  the  children,  Sally,  but  that  was 
always  'home,'  even  after  I  was  married 
and  had  a  home  of  my  own. 

"Robert's  grandfather  was  'Uncle 
Robin'  to  all  the  neighbourhood  and 
Mother  was  'Aunt  Nellie,'  and  the 
hearts  of  the  two  of  them — 1  can't 
tell  you  about  that.  It's  too  big  for 
telling.  But  someway  or  other,  most 
every  one  had  a  heart  down  there.  I 
suppose  there  must  have  been  ornery 
folks,  but  I  can't  remember  any,  nor 
any  hates  nor  feuds  either.  When 
70 


A  NEW  YORK  FLAT 

any  one  stuck  fast  in  trouble  all  the 
neighbours  put  their  shoulders  to  the 
wheel. 

"If  a  man  fell  sick  in  harvest-time, 
for  instance,  the  neighbours  didn't 
bother  him  with  asking  whether  he 
wanted  anything  done.  They  just 
turned  to  and  harvested  his  crops. 
Or  if  he  wasn't  able  to  get  down  his 
wood  in  the  autumn  they  got  it  down 
for  him.  They  all  helped  each  other 
with  harvesting  anyway.  The  man 
whose  field  needed  attention  most 
got  first  attention,  and  if  one  man  had 
a  big  crop  and  another  had  a  small 
one  the  man  who  had  the  small  one 
never  stopped  to  think  about  that. 
Like  as  not  he'd  be  the  one  to  need 
most  help  the  next  year;  and  if  not, 
what  difference  did  it  make  anyway? 

"I  can  remember  as  plainly  as  can 
be  one  afternoon  when  I  was  riding 
home  from  the  village  with  Father, 
and  we  passed  a  big  field  where  the 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

hay  was  down.  Father  stopped  his 
horse  and  looked  at  the  sky. 

!<<Lem's  away  to-day  buying  cat 
tle,'  he  said,  'and  that  sky  looks  like  a 
storm.  Peggy,  you  hurry  along  and 
tell  Uncle  Will  Conway  and  Ben  Root 
that  we'll  have  to  get  in  here  and  see 
to  Lem's  hay.  I'll  get  the  Robinsons 
and  the  Stuart  boys  on  my  way  home.' 

"In  half  an  hour  there  were  a  dozen 
men  and  five  teams  in  that  field  and 
every  bit  of  hay  was  under  cover  be 
fore  the  storm  broke.  That's  neigh 
bouring,  child. 

"And  widows!  Why  the  way  wid 
ows  and  orphans  were  taken  care  of 
down  there  fairly  beat  the  Bible! 
There  was  Caroline  Reed.  Her  hus 
band  left  her  without  very  much 
money  and  in  poor  health  and  with  a 
little  farm  on  her  hands;  and  the 
neighbours  just  took  her  and  the  chil 
dren  up  and  carried  them  along.  The 
men  planted  her  garden  and  her  pota- 
72 


A  NEW  YORK  FLAT 

toes  and  whatever  she  wanted  to  raise, 
and  then  they  got  the  things  in  for  her, 
and  they  cut  and  sawed  and  split  her 
wood  and  dumped  it  at  her  door. 
Sometimes  one  man  would  haul  a 
load  over  and  sometimes  another 
would.  And  I  can  remember  when 
Grandmother  would  be  warping  a 
web  of  stuff  for  our  dresses,  or  for 
Father's  and  the  boys'  clothes,  she'd 
say  to  Mother:  'Nellie,  don't  you 
think  I'd  better  add  a  few  yards  to 
what  we're  going  to  need  of  this  and 
have  it  for  Caroline's  children?  She 
isn't  fit  to  weave,  and  winter's  coming 
on.' 

"And  Mother  would  say:  'Why, 
yes,  do,  Mother.' 

"The  other  women  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  would  do  the  same  sort  of 
thing,  and  they'd  dry  fruit  and  vege 
tables — nobody  canned  anything 
then,  you  know — and  smoke  hams 
and  bacon  and  put  salt  pork  in  brine, 

73 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

and  send  it  all  along  to  Caroline.  And 
it  never  occurred  to  them  or  to  Caro 
line,  either,  that  what  they  were  do 
ing  was  charity.  It  wasn't.  It  was 
neighbouring.  Caroline  had  money 
enough  to  get  along,  but  she  was  sick 
and  she  was  a  widow,  and  folks  just 
didn't  want  her  to  have  to  bother 
about  things.  Somebody  used  to  run 
in  twice  a  week  and  do  her  baking  for 
her  and  clean  up  more  thoroughly 
than  she  and  the  oldest  little  girl 
could. 

"  But  then  that  was  nothing  unusual. 
Whenever  there  was  sickness  or  trou 
ble  anywhere  the  neighbour  women 
would  go  right  in  and  do  the  work. 
They'd  bake  and  cook  at  home  and 
send  in  everything  so  that  there 
wasn't  need  of  any  fuss  and  cooking 
going  on  where  the  sickness  was,  and 
they'd  take  turns  nursing.  There 
weren't  any  trained  nurses  then  and  I 
expect  maybe  trained  nurses  are  bet- 

74 


A  NEW  YORK  FLAT 

ter;  but  there  was  an  awful  lot  of 
heart  in  that  old-fashioned  nursing, 
and  Aunt  Jeruskha  Evans  could  grab 
a  person  right  out  of  the  jaws  of  death 
if  anybody  could. 

"No  matter  how  long  the  sickness 
lasted  the  neighbours  didn't  get  tired 
— or,  if  they  did,  they  never  said  so. 

"Once  a  man  with  a  wife  and  a  baby 
moved  into  a  little  house  down  by  the 
creek.  Strangers  they  were  and  they 
hadn't  any  more  than  settled  before 
the  man  took  sick.  Well,  the  neigh 
bour  men  went  down  to  look  after 
him  and  the  women  sent  down  some 
roast  chickens  and  bread  and  pies  and 
things,  but  when  they  got  the  doctor 
over  from  Paris — the  nearest  town — 
he  said  the  man  had  smallpox. 

"That  was  a  good  deal  of  a  jolt  even 
for  real  neighbourly  folks,  and  some 
were  scared  half  to  death  and  stayed 
away,  but  not  all  the  neighbours.  No, 
indeed!  My  big  brother  Joe  heard 

75 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

the  news  and  came  hurrying  home  to 
tell  Father  and  Mother  about  it. 

"'I'm  going  down  to  take  care  of 
him,'  he  said. 

"Mother  turned  kind  of  white  and 
looked  at  Father,  and  Father  was  still 
for  a  minute.  Then  he  said : 

"That's  right,  Son.  I'll  spell  you 
with  him.' 

"  But  they  didn't  let  him  do  it.  He 
was  old  then  and  not  very  strong,  and 
I  think  at  least  a  dozen  younger  men 
volunteered  for  the  nursing.  The  sick 
man  got  well  and  no  one  else  had  the 
smallpox,  but  you  see  they  went  a 
long  way  in  their  neighbouring  down 
there.  Somehow  or  other  nobody 
minded  taking  help  or  giving  it.  May 
be  one  of  us  children  would  be  ailing 
and  fretting,  and  Mother  would  be 
trying  to  get  her  baking  done,  and  in 
would  come  Mrs.  Bannerman  or  Mrs. 
Abbot.  She'd  take  a  look  at  things, 
and  then  she'd  walk  over  to  the  closet 
76 


A  NEW  YORK  FLAT 

where  Mother  kept  her  kitchen  aprons 
and  get  one  out  and  tie  it  on. 

"'You  go  along  and  look  after  that 
baby,  Nellie,'  she'd  say.  Til  get 
this  bread  in  for  you.' 

"She'd  mix  the  bread  and  put  it  in 
the  oven;  and,  if  there  were  pies  or 
doughnuts  or  cakes  on  hand,  she'd 
toss  them  together,  too,  and  when  it 
was  all  done  she'd  wash  her  hands  and 
take  off  her  apron  and  go  home  as  if 
she'd  only  been  making  a  pleasant 
call. 

"There  weren't  any  needy  in  that 
neighbourhood.  Nobody  was  allowed 
to  need — not  if  the  neighbours  knew 
it,  and  they  generally  did.  And  the 
part  of  it  that  seems  queer  to  me,  now 
that  I've  been  out  In  the  world,  though 
it  seemed  as  natural  as  breathing 
then,  is  that  nobody  thought  he  de 
served  credit  for  what  he  did  for  the 
others.  It  was  just  neighbouring 
and  that  was  all  there  was  to  it. 

77 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

Mighty  close  to  Scripture  the  neigh 
bouring  was,  back  home. 

"Once  when  I  was  a  little  girl  I  was 
sitting  on  the  back  porch  with  Father, 
and  Mr.  Gasway  came  through  the 
calf  lot  and  sat  down  on  the  steps. 

"'That's  a  fine  field  of  turnips 
you've  got  across  the  creek,  Robin,' 
he  said. 

"  'Yes,'  said  Father.  'They've  done 
well.  Help  yourself  to  them  when 
you  want  any,  Will/ 

'"Oh,  I've  been  doing  that,'  said 
Mr.  Gasway. 

"It  didn't  strike  either  one  of  them 
as  funny  that  he  hadn't  waited  to  be 
told  he  could  do  it. 

"Queer  I  should  remember  that, 
but  I  remember  more  and  more  about 
those  days.  They  seem  more  real 
than  this  living  in  New  York  does. 
Sometimes  I  think  I'm  dreaming  this 
and  living  that. 

"Neighbours?    Why,  I   remember 

78 


A  NEW  YORK  FLAT 

once  Mother  was  putting  dinner  on 
the  table.  There  were  two  big  roast 
chickens  and  I  was  terribly  hungry. 
I  can  smell  those  chickens  now.  Just 
then  Aunt  Lucy  Hooper  came  tearing 
in  at  the  kitchen  door,  all  out  of  breath 
and  red  in  the  face,  and  she  grabbed 
the  platter,  chickens  and  all. 

f< 'Nellie,'  she  said,  'I  need  these 
chickens.  Hiram  Phelps  and  Susan 
have  just  come  and  they've  got  to 
push  on  to  Indianapolis  in  a  hurry. 
Her  mother's  sick  there.  I  haven't 
got  time  to  kill  chickens  and  he  can't 
eat  ham  since  he  had  that  stomach 
trouble.' 

"Off  she  went  across  the  orchard 
with  our  chickens,  and  Mother 
laughed  and  fried  some  ham." 

The  Little  Old  Lady's  face  was 
sweet,  with  a  sweetness  half  smiles, 
half  tears. 

"Sometimes  I  do  miss  it  so,"  she 
said.  "  I  want  folks  to  come  close." 

79 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

Louise  snuggled  closer,  but  no  one 
spoke.  It  hurt  to  know  that  the 
Little  Old  Lady  was  lonely. 

"I  was  down  there  when  my  first 
baby  died,"  she  said  after  a  long 
pause;  and  then,  after  a  pause  still 
longer:  "Oh,  they  were  good  neigh 
bours!" 

She  lifted  Louise's  head  gently  from 
her  knee,  rose  and  straightened  her 
cap  strings  before  the  mirror. 

"I'm  going  in  to  see  the  woman 
beyond  the  wall,"  she  said,  as  she 
left  the  room;  and  even  the  daughter- 
in-law  who  had  always  lived  in  New 
York  spoke  not  a  word  of  protest. 


80 


CHAPTER  IV 

She  Tells  a  Beautiful  Story  of  Having 
Company  Down  Home 

THE  man  of  the  family  had 
brought  a  friend  home  with 
him  for  dinner. 

That  was  quite  as  it  should  be. 
His  wife's  cheerful  brow  showed  no 
sign  of  a  furrow,  but  her  mind  was 
suddenly  ravaged  by  wrinkles,  and 
a  few  moments  later  Bella,  the  cook, 
went  surging  like  a  dark  tempest 
cloud  up  the  hill  to  Broadway  and 
the  nearest  delicatessen  and  catering 
shops. 

Dinner   was   a   few   minutes   late, 
but    it    was    irreproachable.     There 
was   an   entree,   and   the   steak  was 
81 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

smothered  in  mushrooms,  and  the 
ice  cream  came  up  the  dumb-waiter 
just  in  time  to  follow  upon  the  heels 
of  the  salad. 

And  when  the  well-fed  and  smiling 
guest  had  departed,  and  the  well-fed 
and  smiling  host  was  about  to  settle 
down  to  a  last  cigar  and  an  evening 
paper  the  hostess  made  a  wholly 
excusable  bid  for  appreciation  and 
praise.  She  was  a  good  manager 
and  an  amiable  wife  and  she  wanted 
someone  to  tell  her  so. 

"Bella's  really  wonderful  in  an 
emergency,"  she  said  contentedly. 
"I  don't  see  how  she  does  it  when 
there's  so  much  of  her  to  set  in  motion, 
but  at  a  time  like  to-night  I  forgive 
her  all  the  breakfasts  she  burns  and 
the  dishes  she  breaks  and  the  temper 
she  shows.  If  I  can  think  fast  enough 
and  order  fast  enough  she  can  do 
things  fast  enough,  and  it's  such  a 
comfort!  Nobody  could  have  guessed 
82 


COMPANY  DOWN  HOME 

it  was  wash  day  and  we  weren't 
going  to  have  anything  except  soup 
and  steak  and  potatoes.  Everything 
was  lovely,  wasn't  it,  Mother?" 

The  Little  Old  Lady  smiled  assent. 
She  never  failed  any  one  who  turned 
to  her  for  sympathy. 

"As  nice  a  dinner  as  any  man  could 
want,  Sally,"  she  said  with  enthusiasm. 
"You  and  Bella  certainly  are  a  pair 
when  it  comes  to  emergencies." 

She  was  most  satisfactory,  but 
her  smile  had  more  than  commenda 
tion  in  it  and  the  daughter-in-law 
met  it  with  a  smile  of  her  own. 
People  always  smiled  back  at  the 
Little  Old  Lady. 

"Well?"  said  the  younger  woman. 

The  Little  Old  Lady  coloured  up 
like  a  child  caught  in  mischief. 
Then  she  chuckled. 

"You  are  a  splendid  manager, 
Sally,"  she  said.  "You  surely  are. 
I  wasn't  smiling  at  you.  It  was  just 

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OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

the  whole  situation  that  tickled  me — 
and  the  whole  way  of  living  that  the 
situation  means.  I  was  trying  to 
imagine  Mother  sending  somebody 
scrambling  out  to  buy  provisions 
every  time  an  extra  person  dropped 
in  for  a  meal.  That's  what  made  me 
laugh.  I  can't  get  used  to  it,  Sally. 
Honestly,  I  can't,  but  it  doesn't 
scandalize  me  the  way  it  did.  You 
and  Robert  never  knew  how  I  felt 
about  it  right  at  first.  You  see  I 
didn't  realize  then  that  everybody 
lived  that  way  in  New  York,  and  I 
had  thought  Robert  was  doing  real 
well  down  here;  and  when  I  came  on 
to  you — why,  I  was  perfectly  heart 
broken  over  you.  I  cried  when  I 
was  in  bed,  nights,  and  I  made  it  a 
subject  for  prayer,  but  I  didn't  seem 
able  to  pray  my  way  through  it." 

"Why,  Mother!"  The  daughter- 
in-law's  tone  was  distressed,  bewild 
ered,  incredulous. 

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The  Little  Old  Lady  laughed. 

"Oh,  bless  your  heart,  it  didn't 
last  more  than  a  few  days.  I  got 
my  bearings  then  and  saw  that  there 
were  millions  of  New  York  flats  and 
not  a  decent-sized  pantry  in  one  of 
them.  Somebody  else  just  naturally 
has  to  keep  your  provisions  for  you. 
I  understand  that  now,  but  isn't  it 
awful!" 

The  distress  had  faded  from  the 
daughter's  face,  but  the  bewilder 
ment  lingered.  New  York  ways  were 
the  only  ways  she  knew.  The  Little 
Old  Lady  realized  that  and  made 
concession  to  her  ignorance. 

"Of  course  it  doesn't  seem  awful 
to  you,  dearie.  You  never  lived 
in  the  country.  I  reckon  even  in 
the  country  folks  don't  live  now  as 
they  did  when  I  was  a  girl  back  home; 
but,  you  see,  I  can't  get  rid  of  my  old 
ideas  and  standards,  and  every  time 
I  see  Bella  whipping  off  to  buy  a 

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OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

pint  of  cream  or  a  loaf  of  bread  or  a 
pound  of  butter  because  company's 
come  I  think  about  the  way  folks 
dropped  in  on  us  down  in  Southern 
Indiana,  and  I  have  to  laugh.  I 
can't  help,  it,  Sally.  You'd  laugh, 
too,  if  you  had  ever  lived  the  old 
way.  Can't  you  remember  anything 
about  your  grandpa's,  Robert?" 

The  head  of  the  family  had  put 
aside  his  paper. 

"Not  much,"  he  said,  "only  that 
it  was  a  heavenly  place  for  a  very 
small  boy,  and  that  Grandmother 
was  an  angel  and  the  cooky-jar  was 
never  empty." 

"Empty!  Well,  I  should  say  not — 
not  so  long  as  there  were  grand 
children  or  neighbours'  children  to 
make  cookies  for!  But  even  when 
you  were  down  there  things  were 
changed  from  what  they  had  been 
when  I  was  a  child. 

"The  way-back  times  are  the  ones 
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COMPANY  DOWN  HOME 

I  love  best  to  think  about,  the  times 
before  Grandmother  left  us,  and  be 
fore  Father  was  crippled,  and  before 
my  older  sisters  married,  and  before 
we  began  buying  dress  goods  instead 
of  weaving  them,  and  cooking  on  a 
cook  stove  instead  of  in  the  big  fire 
place  and  the  brick  ovens. 

"Why,  we  hardly  bought  anything 
then  except  coffee  and  tea  and  a  few 
other  such  things. 

"Mother  dried  all  kinds  of  fruit 
and  vegetables.  Better  than  the  can 
ned  ones  they  were,  too.  There  was 
a  regular  drying  house  with  great 
perforated  trays  and  a  sort  of  fur 
nace  beneath  them;  and  when  we 
were  getting  the  fruit  ready  for  drying 
the  neighbour  women  came  in  to  help, 
and  stayed  for  supper,  and  in  the 
evening  the  young  folks  came  for  a 
party. 

"Then  there  were  gallons  and 
gallons  of  preserves  and  pickles  put 

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OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

up  in  stone  jars,  and  Father  raised 
enough  winter  vegetables  to  feed  a 
regiment,  and  in  the  winter  the  cellar 
bins  were  always  full  of  apples  and 
pears.  We  didn't  eat  as  much  fresh 
meat  as  you  do,  though  the  neighbours 
took  turns  killing  and  divided  the 
meat:  but  there  were  always  more 
chickens  and  turkeys  and  ducks  and 
geese  than  we  could  use;  and  I  wish 
you  could  have  seen  the  smokehouse. 
It  hung  full  of  hams  and  sides  of 
bacon  and  smoked  beef — home-cured 
over  hickory  chip  and  corncob  fires. 
Father  wouldn't  use  any  other  kind 
of  fuel  for  the  smokehouse  fires. 
I  don't  get  any  such  hams  and  bacon 
now.  There  were  barrels  and  barrels 
of  salt  pork  and  corned  beef  in  the 
cellar,  and  always  a  barrel  of  flour 
in  the  pantry.  Our  grain  went  to  the 
mill  when  the  wheat  flour  or  cornmeal 
ran  low.  No  wonder  your  corn  pone 
isn't  what  it  ought  to  be,  Sally,  with 
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COMPANY  DOWN  HOME 

the  meal  standing  on  grocery  shelves 
for  goodness  knows  how  long. 

"We  made  our  own  sugar,  too — 
maple  it  was;  and  every  spring,  when 
the  sap  begins  to  run,  I  get  such  a 
hungering  to  be  down  there  in  the 
sugar  bush,  helping  Father,  that  it 
seems  as  if  I  can't  stand  it. 

"There's  another  thing  that  makes 
me  mortally  homesick,  too.  That's 
the  mint  you  put  in  the  sauce  when 
you  have  lamb.  The  smell  of  it 
always  chokes  me  up.  That's  why  I 
don't  eat  lamb,  Sally.  It  isn't  that 
I  don't  like  it. 

"You  see  we  had  a  big  springhouse. 
Everybody  did  down  home.  We 
went  down  a  little  slope  of  it,  from 
the  kitchen  door,  and  even  on  the 
hottest  days  it  was  cool  in  there.  All 
the  pans  of  milk  and  pitchers  of  cream 
and  jars  of  butter  were  set  on  flat 
stones  with  the  water  running  around 
them,  and  when  melons  were  ripe 

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OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

we  used  to  pick  some  in  the  early 
morning  of  each  day  and  put  them 
in  the  springhouse  to  cool.  Then, 
whenever  we  felt  like  it,  we  children 
would  go  down  and  cut  open  a  melon 
and  eat  it,  and  there  were  always 
the  cool  gurgling  sound  of  the  water 
and  the  smell  of  wet  growing  things 
like  mint  and  pennyroyal  in  the  air. 
It  seems  kind  of  pitiful  to  have  to 
depend  on  an  ice-box,  Sally. 

"We  kept  bees,  too.  I  'most  forgot 
to  tell  you  that.  We  children  loved 
honey  and  it  was  always  on  the  table 
for  every  meal,  but  nobody  except 
Mother  could  take  the  honey  out 
of  the  hives.  Even  the  bees  loved 
Mother  and  wouldn't  sting  her. 

"Well,  you  see,  with  stores  like 
that  always  on  hand  and  four  good 
cooks  in  the  family  company  hadn't 
any  terrors  for  us.  Company?  Why, 
folks  don't  know  anything  about 
company  nowadays! 
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COMPANY  DOWN  HOME 

"I  can  remember  parties  of  ten  or 
twelve  dropping  in  on  us  unexpect 
edly  and  nobody  upset  over  it,  either. 
Crowds  like  that  would  come  riding 
up  from  Kentucky  to  spend  a  few 
days  or  a  week  with  us,  and  sometimes 
they'd  ride  over  from  nearby  Indiana 
towns,  and  we  were  always  delighted 
when  they'd  draw  up  in  front  of  the 
house,  laughing  and  calling  to  us. 
Nowadays  visitors  have  to  wait  to 
be  invited  and  give  notice  weeks 
ahead,  and  then,  like  as  not,  they 
aren't  really  welcome,  and  everybody 
in  the  family  is  cross  because  they've 
come,  and  relieved  when  they  go; 
but  we  didn't  know  anything  about 
that  kind  of  entertaining  at  Father's. 
Everybody  was  welcome,  and  the 
more  the  merrier. 

"  Room  ?  Why,  yes,  we  made  room. 
Our  house  was  pretty  big  and  there 
were  plenty  of  extra  feather  beds  in 
the  attic.  Mother  always  made  the 

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OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

goose  feathers  up  into  feather  beds 
and  pillows  for  us  girls  and  my  brother. 
She  counted  on  giving  each  of  us  four 
feather  beds  and  a  dozen  pillows  when 
we  married,  and  she  had  a  fair  start 
even  when  I  was  a  little  tot.  So 
we'd  bring  the  feather  beds  down  and 
make  up  beds  on  the  spare-room 
floors,  when  the  crowd  was  too  big 
for  the  regular  beds.  I've  seen  ten 
girls  sleeping  in  one  big  room  some 
times,  and  they'd  never  settle  down 
for  the  night  until  Mother  had  gone 
in  and  had  a  frolic  with  them.  She 
was  the  greatest  girl  of  them  all, 
Mother  was,  and  the  young  people 
thought  the  world  of  her.  She  was 
plump  and  comfortable  looking,  and, 
even  when  she  was  old,  she  had  a 
smooth,  fair  skin,  and  pretty  pink 
cheeks,  and  there  were  always  a 
twinkle  in  her  eye  and  a  smile  on  her 
lips  except  when  she  was  crying  over 
other  people's  hurts. 
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"Father  was  sour  sometimes  as 
he  grew  old,  and  his  religion  got  to 
be  rather  grim,  but  Mother  just 
laughed  and  loved  her  way  straight 
through  eighty-two  years  of  life;  and 
her  God  was  like  Grandmother's 
God,  a  tender,  smiling  God  that  even 
wee  children  could  cling  to  and  love, 

"How  did  I  get  from  feather  beds 
to  religion?  Through  Mother,  wasn't 
it?  Well,  that  was  the  way  Mother's 
religion  worked.  It  had  a  way  of 
mixing  itself  up  with  everything,  even 
with  feather  beds  and  good-night 
frolics. 

"I  can  see  her  yet,  with  her  cap 
strings  flying  and  her  face  all  rippled 
over  with  laughter  and  her  cheeks  as 
pink  as  the  prettiest  girl's,  sitting  on 
the  side  of  a  bed  and  talking  and 
joking  with  the  girls  or  tumbling 
one  of  them  over  on  a  feather  bed, 
or  teasing  them  about  their  beaux 
or  telling  about  her  own  girl  days  down 

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OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

in  Kentucky.  And  then  I  can  see 
her  dropping  down  on  her  knees  be 
fore  she  said  good-night  and  saying 
a  little  prayer  that  made  God  seem 
very  near  and  very  loving  and  that 
always  left  some  of  the  gayest  girls 
with  tears  in  their  eyes. 

"Oh,  Mother  didn't  mind  having 
company. 

"We  lived  in  a  big  red  brick  house 
beside  the  State  road,  and  all  the 
travel  between  Louisville  and  Indi 
anapolis  went  that  way.  There 
wasn't  a  railroad,  you  know,  and  most 
of  the  travellers  rode,  unless  they  were 
movers  or  peddlers  with  wagons. 

"So,  though  we  lived  in  the  coun 
try,  a  good  deal  of  the  world  went 
by  us — and  most  of  it  stopped  with 
us.  Everybody  knew  our  house  and 
knew  that  Father  never  refused  lodg 
ing  and  food  to  a  traveller,  and  if 
travellers  didn't  know  about  us  some 
one  was  pretty  sure  to  tell  them. 

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"'Go  on  till  you  come  to  the  big 
brick  house  on  the  hill,'  he'd  say. 
That's  Uncle  Robin  King's.  He'll 
put  you  up.' ' 

"But  what  an  awful  imposition, 
Mother!"  interrupted  the  head  of 
the  family. 

His  mother  looked  surprised,  but 
considered  the  proposition  fairly  and 
passed  upon  it. 

"Why,  yes,  maybe  it  was,  Robert; 
but  that  didn't  occur  to  us.  The 
inns  were  far  apart  and  poor,  and  some 
folks  couldn't  very  well  afford  to 
put  up  at  them,  anyway.  We  had 
plenty  of  everything  and  there  were 
Mother  and  Granny  and  my  three 
older  sisters  besides  the  hired  help, 
so  there  was  no  trouble  about  getting 
the  work  done.  There  wasn't  so 
much  fussing  about  getting  meals 
and  washing  dishes  then  as  there  is 
now,  you  know.  We  used  what  dishes 
we  needed  and  no  more,  and  we 

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cooked  big  quantities,  but  it  was  good, 
plain  cooking.  Mother  could  have 
whipped  up  a  whole  turkey  dinner 
for  a  dozen  in  the  time  Bella  spends 
scraping  out  grapefruit  for  a  salad 
and  cutting  the  skins  basket-shape, 
and  stirring  up  that  everlasting  may 
onnaise  and  putting  the  salad  back 
into  the  skins.  It's  an  awfully  pretty 
looking  dish  when  it's  done,  Sally, 
but  we'd  never  have  kepi:  up  with 
our  company  if  we  had  fed  them 
things  like  that.  And  we'd  never 
have  got  our  dishes  washed  if  we'd 
had  plates  under  all  the  other  plates, 
and  separate  knives  and  forks  for 
everything  and  finger-bowls  and 
courses. 

"No;  we  had  plain  meals,  but  they 
certainly  were  good.  Everybody  for 
hundreds  of  miles  around  knew  what 
a  famous  cook  Mother  was.  Once, 
just  about  sunset,  a  young  man  rode 
up  to  our  gate  on  a  fine,  thorough- 

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bred  horse.  We  didn't  know  him, 
but  he  tied  his  horse  and  came  up 
the  front  walk  to  where  we  were  all 
sitting  on  the  stoop.  Laughing  he 
was,  and  good  looking  and  as  thor 
oughbred  as  his  horse. 

"'Are  you  Uncle  Robin  King?'  he 
asked  Father. 

"Father  said  he  was,  and  then  the 
boy  turned  to  Mother. 

"'Aunt  Nellie,'  he  said.  Tm  Mi 
randa  Powell's  boy  and  I've  ridden 
up  from  Lexington  to  see  if  your 
Sally  Lunn  really  is  better  than 
Mother's.  She  owns  up  that  it  is.' 

"Mother  was  as  pleased  as  Punch, 
and  she  almost  fed  that  boy  to  death 
while  he  stayed  with  us.  My  sister 
Peggy  married  him  later.  She  was 
almost  as  good  a  cook  as  Mother, 
but  that  wasn't  why  he  fell  in  love 
with  her.  She  had  a  new  print  dress 
with  a  pink  sprig  in  it,  that  summer, 
and  a  pink  calash  and  her  eyes  were 

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OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

sort  of  violet  colour — but  that  wasn't 
what  I  was  going  to  tell  you  about. 

"No;  we  didn't  feel  imposed  upon 
when  people  stopped  with  us.  If 
they  were  friends  it  was  just  visiting, 
and  if  they  were  strangers  it  was  just 
being  Christian;  and  either  way  it 
was  mighty  entertaining. 

"We  used  to  get  queer  people 
sometimes.  Once  there  was  a  foreign 
man  with  a  dancing  bear.  I  was  a 
little  bit  of  a  girl  then  and  I  didn't 
sleep  all  night  for  fear  the  bear  would 
get  out  of  the  old  calf  shed  where 
they'd  tied  him,  but  in  the  morning 
the  man  let  me  feed  honey  to  the  bear, 
and  I  hated  to  have  them  go  away. 

"Runaway  slaves  used  to  come  be 
cause  Father  was  an  anti-slavery 
man.  That's  why  he  moved  from 
Kentucky,  after  freeing  all  his  own 
slaves.  We  children  never  knew  very 
much  about  the  runaways,  for  they 
usually  came  in  the  night;  but  some- 
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times  we'd  be  wakened  by  a  tapping 
on  the  back  door  or  window,  and  then 
we'd  hear  Father  get  up  and  bring 
Somebody  into  the  house,  and  pretty 
soon  Mother  would  be  hurrying  around 
in  the  kitchen  and  we'd  smell  bacon 
and  eggs  and  coffee.  Sister  Peggy 
and  I  used  to  creep  out  of  bed  and 
watch  out  of  our  window,  and  by- 
and-by  we'd  see  a  group  of  dark  fig 
ures  go  slinking  off  toward  the  woods, 
and  things  would  quiet  down  in  the 
house. 

"I  can  remember  once,  when  a  lot 
of  slaves  had  been  escaping  and  the 
slave  owners  were  stirring  things  up, 
Cass  Dawson,  the  sheriff  of  our 
county,  came  out  to  our  house  with  a 
posse  just  at  dinner-time.  Father 
was  away,  but  Mother  made  them 
have  dinner,  and,  when  they  had 
cleaned  up  their  plates  and  were 
ready  to  go,  Cass  shuffled  around  and 
stood  first  on  one  foot  and  then  on 

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OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

the  other  and  tried  to  look  like  a 
sheriff,  and  finally  he  said: 

"'Now,  Aunt  Nellie,  you've  got 
to  stop  this  business  or  you'll  get  into 
trouble.' 

"'What   business?'   Mother  asked. 

'"This  feeding  and  harbouring  run 
away  niggers.  It's  against  the  law, 
Aunt  Nellie.  The  law  says  you  can't 
feed  them  or  lodge  them  or  sell  to 
them  or  help  them  anyway/ 

"Mother  looked  at  him  as  if  he 
were  a  foolish  child. 

"'Well,  Cass,'  she  said,  Tve  been 
going  by  a  law  that  says,  "Feed  my 
sheep!"  God  made  my  law.  Who 
made  yours  ? ' 

"The  men  grinned  and  Cass  looked 
silly,  but  he  began  to  bluster  and  say 
that  it  was  a  prison  offence  to  feed 
runaways,  and  Mother  listened  for  a 
little  while.  But  at  last  she  walked 
up  to  Cass  and  looked  him  straight 
in  the  face.  Her  eyes  were  as  bright 
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COMPANY  DOWN  HOME 

as  stars  and  her  face  was  pink  all  over 
and  she  just  blazed  out  at  him. 

"'Cass  Dawson,'  she  said,  'I  never 
turned  away  a  stranger  that  came  to 
me  and  asked  for  food  and  I'm  not 
going  to  begin  now.  I've  fed  every 
mortal  that  ever  came  here  and  told 
me  he  was  hungry,  and  I  expect  to  go 
on  doing  it.  I  don't  care  whether  he's 
white  or  black,  or  bond  or  free,  and  if 
feeding  the  hungry  is  a  prison  offence 
in  Indiana,  then  you  may  as  well  take 
me  to  jail  now  as  any  time,  for  I'm 
going  to  keep  right  on  being  that  kind 
of  an  offender.  So  you'd  better  get 
a  horse  ready  for  me  and  I'll  put  on 
my  bonnet.' 

"I  began  to  cry,  but  the  sheriff 
backed  off  as  if  she'd  pointed  a  pistol 
at  him. 

"Take  you  to  jail,  Aunt  Nellie?' 
he  stammered.  'Why,  the  whole 
country'd  turn  out  and  lynch  me!' 

"Well,  then,  if  you  aren't  going 
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OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

to  do  your  duty,  for  pity's  sake  run 
along  and  let  me  get  at  mine,'  said 
Mother. 

"And  that  was  the  last  we  ever 
heard  about  her  feeding  runaways, 
though  our  house  used  to  be  watched 
sometimes. 

"Did  I  ever  tell  you  how  I  got  my 
name  from  one  of  the  strangers  Father 
took  in?  A  real,  nice,  pleasant- 
spoken  man  he  was,  they  say.  He 
came  along  one  spring  with  a  boy  and 
a  covered  wagon  full  of  waxworks, 
and  he  had  to  stay  at  our  house  three 
days,  because  one  of  his  horses  was 
dead  lame. 

"Father  wouldn't  take  any  pay.  He 
never  did — and  so,  the  evening  before 
they  went  away,  the  man  and  the  boy 
unpacked  all  the  wax  figures  and 
brought  them  into  the  sitting  room  and 
showed  them  off. 

"Father  was  troubled  for  fear  it 
bordered  on  theatricals,  but  the  man 
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said  it  was  educational  and  high  class 
and  elegant,  and  Mother  told  Father 
it  wasn't  right  to  throw  the  man's 
gratitude  back  in  his  face.  She  was 
just  as  crazy  to  see  the  show  as  the 
children  were,  I  reckon. 

"So  the  man  set  the  figures  up,  one 
at  a  time,  and  told  all  about  them. 
There  were  George  Washington  and 
Shakespeare  and  Queen  Elizabeth  and 
Napoleon  and  Marie  Louise  and  lots 
of  others — only  he  didn't  get  out  the 
murderers  and  pirates,  and  the  boy 
told  brother  Joe  afterward  that  they 
were  the  best  part  of  the  show. 

"Mother  and  the  girls  liked  Marie 
Louise  best  of  any  of  the  waxworks. 
They  always  told  me  she  was  as  pretty 
as  could  be  and  had  on  a  blue  velvet 
dress  with  gold  lace  on  it,  and  lots  of 
jewels  and  her  hair  all  up  in  puffs. 

"I  was  only  three  weeks  old,  and 
they  hadn't  really  settled  on  a  name 
for  me,  and  when  the  showman  saw 
103 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

how  Mother  and  the  girls  took  on 
over  Marie  Louise,  he  said: 

"Why  don't  you  name  that  fine 
baby  for  her?" 

"  Father  was  shocked  at  first.  He'd 
always  named  his  children  out  of  the 
Bible,  and  it  seemed  sort  of  heathen 
to  name  one  for  a  wax  figure;  but 
everybody  else  thought  it  was  a  beau 
tiful  plan,  and  finally  he  gave  in  and 
so  that's  what  I  was  named — Marie 
Louise  Bonaparte  King — but  every 
body  called  me  Louise.  I've  always 
been  glad  the  waxworks  man  got 
there  when  he  did,  because  Father 
had  half  decided  to  call  me  Deborah, 
and  that's  an  ugly  name,  even  if  she 
was  in  the  Bible." 

"I'm  glad,  too,  Granny,"  said  little 
Louise  contentedly.  "Tell  about 
some  more  company." 

The  Little  Old  Lady  laughed. 

"Oh,  we  had  all  sorts.  One  stormy 
night  an  eloping  couple  came.  They'd 
104 


COMPANY  DOWN  HOME 

run  away  from  Lexington,  Kentucky, 
and  they  weren't  much  more  than 
children.  I  can  remember  exactly 
how  the  girl  looked  when  she  came  in 
out  of  the  storm  with  her  curly  hair 
all  wet  from  the  rain  and  her  pretty 
face  white  and  scared  and  tired.  They 
had  been  married  on  the  way,  but  her 
folks  had  sworn  they'd  shoot  the  boy 
if  he  didn't  keep  away  from  her,  and 
she  was  afraid  her  brothers  were  after 
them.  Father  quoted  the  Bible  about 
honouring  your  father  and  mother, 
and  was  going  to  pray  with  them  but 
Mother  said  what  they  needed  was 
dry  clothes. 

"So  she  whisked  them  off  to  get  dry 
and  have  some  supper,  and  when  she 
found  they  were .  married,  and  that 
there  was  no  use  arguing  about  obey 
ing  parents,  she  just  opened  her  arms 
and  her  heart  to  them,  along  with  her 
home,  and  cuddled  and  petted  and 
heartened  them  until  they  were  as 
105 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

jolly  and  happy  as  a  bride  and  bride 
groom  should  be.  They  stayed  a 
week,  and  Mother  wrote  to  the  girl's 
father.  So  did  the  girl;  and  one  day 
a  fine-looking,  peppery  old  man  rode 
up  on  a  big  black  horse,  and  the  next 
thing  we  knew  the  little  bride  was 
hugging  him  and  crying  on  his  shoul 
der  and  he  was  saying  that  he  had 
come  to  take  the  young  fools  home. 

"He  stayed  a  while  though.  Folks 
generally  did  stay  a  while  at  our 
house — especially  ministers.  My 
land,  but  we  did  fairly  swarm  with 
ministers!  circuit  riders,  you  know, 
and  substitutes.  Seems  to  me  we 
were  always  frying  chickens  for  minis 
ters,  and  most  of  the  regular  ones  fell 
in  love  with  me.  It  was  funny  about 
that.  I  was  young  and  foolish  and 
not  nearly  so  religious  as  the  rest  of 
the  family,  but  some  way  or  other  I 
always  played  hob  with  ministers, 
and  Father  was  set  on  my  marrying 
1 06 


COMPANY  DOWN  HOME 

one  of  them.  He  thought  it  would 
be  a  wonderful  blessing  to  have  a  min 
ister  right  in  the  family,  but  I  didn't 
feel  that  way  about  it;  they  weren't 
my  idea  of  interesting  company. 

"When  I  was  a  child  I  used  to  sit 
out  on  the  front  stoop  and  look  down 
the  road  for  hours  at  a  time,  wishing 
some  real  company  would  come 
through  the  covered  bridge  and  up  the 
hill  to  stay  with  us,  somebody  excit 
ing;  and  I'd  pretend  people  were  com 
ing — kings  and  queens  and  knights 
and  soldiers  and  Christian  and  Faith 
ful  and  missionaries  from  China  and 
robbers  and  lovers.  We  didn't  have 
story  books.  Father  didn't  approve 
of  them,  but  I'd  picked  up  notions 
out  of  histories  and  'Pilgrim's  Prog 
ress'  and  the  church  papers,  and  I 
put  the  lovers  in  after  George  Powell 
rode  up  from  Kentucky  to  sample 
Mother's  Sally  Lunn  and  lost  his  heart 
to  Sister  Peggy.  I  was  tremendously 
107 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

stirred  up  about  George  and  Peggy, 
and  I  made  up  my  mind  that  some 
day  my  own  lover  would  come  riding 
up  the  hill.  I  was  'most  afraid  to  go 
to  bed  nights  for  fear  Fd  miss  seeing 
him  come,  but  I  wouldn't  have  dared 
telling  anybody  about  watching  for 
him — not  even  Mother." 

"Did  he  come,  Granny?"  asked 
little  Louise,  eagerly. 

The  old  face  softened,  flushed,  took 
on  a  shining  glory  that  was  a  reflection 
from  a  sunlit  youth. 

"Yes,  he  came." 

The  Little  Old  Lady's  voice  was 
low  and  very  sweet.  And  then  she  fell 
to  dreaming  for  a  while,  and  her  son 
and  his  wife  looked  into  each  other's 
faces  and  went  back  through  the 
years  to  find  a  dream  of  their  own,  and 
the  little  granddaughter  sat  looking 
into  the  future  with  serious,  question 
ing  eyes. 

108 


CHAPTER  V 

She    Tells    Her    Own    Exquisite    Love 
Story 

THE   Little  Old   Lady's   thin, 
white  hands  fluttered  daintily 
among  the  piles  of  cobwebby 
lingerie — folding,  smoothing,  patting, 
tying  a  ribbon  bow,  picking  out  a  bit 
of  lace — but   the   Little   Old   Lady's 
face  wore  its  far-away  look. 

"You're  thinking  long-ago  thoughts, 
Granny."  The  small  granddaughter's 
voice  held  a  hopeful  note.  "Long- 
ago  thoughts"  so  often  meant  a  story, 
and  Granny's  namesake  loved  to  walk 
with  her  along  the  ways  of  memory. 

The  Little  Old  Lady  smiled  confes 
sion. 

109 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

"Yes,  dear.  I  had  gone  back.  It 
seems  such  a  little  time  ago  that  I  was 
falling  in  love  and  dreaming  and  hop 
ing  and  marrying;  and  now  my  eldest 
granddaughter  is  living  the  story  in  her 
turn,  and  some  day  her  granddaughter 
will  follow  the  same  road.  I  like  to 
think  of  life  and  love  going  on  and  on 
together,  even  though  each  separate 
story  does  have  an  end  in  this  life." 

That  thought  was  too  big  for 
twelve-year-old  Louise,  but  she  waited 
patiently  for  the  story  that  was  in  the 
air.  One  had  to  let  Granny  travel 
back  to  the  long  ago  in  her  own  way. 
The  mother  of  Louise  and  of  the  mor 
row's  bride  looked  up  from  the  trunk- 
tray,  into  which  she  was  tucking  bil 
lows  of  shimmering  pink  satin  and 
lace,  and  smiled  mistily  at  the  mother- 
in-law  for  whom  the  "in-law"  had 
never  been  used. 

"It's   wonderful,"   she   said,   "but 
it's  very  hard  on  mothers." 
no 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

She  fell  to  packing  again;  but  she 
was  careful  to  brush  away  the  tears 
that  might  have  spotted  the  pink  ball 
gown.  The  Little  Old  Lady  smiled 
at  her  with  wise,  tender  eyes. 

"It's  what  we  bear  them  for,"  she 
said,  quietly;  "and  Ruth's  marrying 
a  splendid  lad,  and  they  will  live  right 
here  in  New  York — but  I  know  it's 
hard,  Sally." 

And  then,  out  of  her  loving  wis 
dom,  she  passed  from  sympathy  to 
laughter. 

"Getting  married  is  such  an  under 
taking  nowadays  that  it's  hard  on 
everybody,"  she  said,  lightly.  "What 
with  announcing  an  engagement  and 
having  engagement  parties,  and  get 
ting  a  trousseau,  and  worrying  through 
prenuptial  social  affairs,  and  planning 
bridesmaids'  dresses,  wedding  refresh 
ments  and  music,  and  all  that  sort  of 
flummadiddle,  there  isn't  rest  for  any 
one.  I  wonder  a  girl  ever  lives  to  get 
in 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

married.  Now  there's  that  rehearsal 
this  afternoon!  Rehearsing  a  wedding 
as  if  it  were  a  play!  I  can't  help 
laughing  about  it,  and  yet  it  makes 
me  sort  of  provoked,  too.  Ruth's 
fairly  worn  out,  but  there  she  is,  put 
ting  in  the  whole  afternoon  before  her 
wedding  day  drilling  bridesmaids 
and  ushers  and  organist  and  Father, 
and  husband  that  is  to  be.  Seems 
to  me  there's  no  time  for  her  to  have 
any  thoughts  or  feelings  about  the  real 
meaning  of  marriage.  I  don't  be 
lieve  she  and  Jim  will  have  any  even 
when  the  ceremony  is  going  on. 
They'll  be  so  worried  about  keeping 
step  to  the  music  and  getting  to  a  cer 
tain  spot  at  a  certain  time  and  having 
the  white  velvet  kneeling  cushions  in 
the  right  place  that  they  won't  know 
whether  they  are  promising  to  love  and 
cherish  or  to  have  beets  for  dinner.'* 
She  was  merry  now,  and  her  daugh 
ter-in-law  was  smiling. 
112 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

"Didn't  you  have  any  'flumma- 
diddle'  about  your  wedding,  Mother?" 
she  asked. 

"My  wedding?  Gracious,  no!  It 
was  as  much  as  the  bargain  that  we 
had  the  wedding."  The  Little  Old 
Lady's  face  was  all  aglow  with 
memories. 

"Tell  it,  Granny,"  begged  Louise 
from  her  story-hour  place  beside  her 
grandmother's  knee. 

"Well,  you  see,  at  my  wedding " 

began  the  Little  Old  Lady. 

"Oh,  no!  from  the  very  beginning. 
You  promised,  you  know,  that  you'd 
tell  us  how  he  rode  up  the  hill." 

"Did  I?"  The  glow  on  Granny's 
face  flushed  to  pink.  The  smile  on 
her  lips  was  very  sweet.  "Then  I'll 
have  to  go  back  a  long  way,  for  I  was 
only  ten  when  he  rode  up  the  hill; 
and  I  was  sitting  on  the  front  steps, 
with  my  elbows  on  my  fat  little  knees 
and  my  chin  in  my  hands  and  was 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

feeling  dreadfully  abused.  Both  of 
my  big  sisters  had  gone  to  Harriet 
Converse's  wedding  at  Powell.  A 
big  wedding  it  was,  as  weddings  went 
down  there.  Harriet  was  marrying 
a  Northern  man  she  had  met  when 
she  was  visiting  in  Louisville  and  was 
making  quite  a  to-do  about  it.  Our 
girls  were  bridesmaids  and  I  had  been 
invited  to  the  wedding,  but  Father 
had  said  that  I  was  too  young  to  go. 
So  there  I  was,  the  morning  after  the 
wedding,  sitting  on  the  stoop  and  wish 
ing  something  would  happen. 

"I  remember  I  had  on  one  of  my 
blue-and-white-checked  linen  dresses. 
Mother  wove  the  linen  for  them  and  I 
always  wore  them.  People  would 
think  they  were  fine  now — hand-woven 
and  vegetable  dye,  you  know,  but 
calicoes  were  just  coming  into  fash 
ion  then;  sixty  cents  a  yard  they 
were — and,  my!  how  I  did  want  a 
pink-sprigged  calico!  My  pantalettes 
114 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

were  the  only  things  I  could  be  really 
proud  of.  Sister  Peggy  made  them 
and  she  was  a  wonderful  needle 
woman,  so  she  always  put  plenty  of 
frills  and  embroidery  and  tucks  on 
them.  I  had  on  my  favourite  pair  that 
morning;  but  they  didn't  chirk  me  up 
a  bit  and  I  was  getting  glummer  and 
glummer,  when,  all  of  a  sudden, 
something  did  happen. 

"There  was  a  clatter  of  hoofs  in  the 
covered  bridge  at  the  bottom  of  the 
hill;  and,  in  a  minute,  a  crowd  of  girls 
and  men  on  horseback  came  out  into 
the  sunlight.  The  whole  wedding 
party  it  was,  bride  and  bridegroom 
and  all.  I  jumped  up  and  squealed 
for  joy,  and  Mother  came  running 
from  the  house,  and  we  hurried  down 
to  the  gate  just  as  the  twenty  riders 
came  cantering  up,  the  girls  in  their 
gay  finery,  with  dark  riding  skirts 
slipped  on  over  their  dresses  and  the 
men  in  their  best,  and  the  horses — 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

well,  we  rode  good  horses  down  there 
across  the  river  from  Kentucky.  I 
can  see  it  all  now,  and  it  was  a  brave 
sight.  No  one  ever  saw  anything  on 
the  bridle  path  in  Central  Park  to 
equal  it. 

"The  bride  was  off  her  horse  first 
and  into  Mother's  arms,  and  when  she 
had  been  hugged  and  kissed  she  in 
troduced  her  husband;  then  she  said: 
'This  is  my  new  brother,  Robert  Dale, 
Aunt  Nellie.' 

"I  knew  right  then  and  there  that 
he  was  the  most  wonderful  man  in  the 
world,  and  I  never  changed  my  mind 
about  it.  He  was  handsome;  but 
that  wasn't  it,  for  his  brother  was 
handsomer;  but  there  was  something 
in  Robert's  face,  something  honest  and 
tender  and  sweet  and  strong;  yes, 
and  merry,  too.  He  had  a  smile  that 
made  sunshine  all  around  him,  and 
when  he  spoke  to  Mother  his  voice 
matched  his  smile.  It  was  low  and 
116 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

clear  and  there  was  a  little  laugh 
crinkling  through  it. 

"Harriet  had  grabbed  me  and 
kissed  me,  and  when  she  said,  'Robert, 
this  is  Louise,'  I  curtsied,  but  I  didn't 
have  the  courage  to  look  at  him;  so 
I  studied  the  tips  of  my  shoes  and 
was  desperately  glad  that  I  had  on 
my  scalloped  pantalettes. 

"The  crowd  had  come  over  to  our 
house  for  the  'infair'  dinner.  That's 
the  bridegroom's  dinner  on  the  day 
after  the  wedding,  you  know;  but 
Mr.  Dale  was  far  away  from  his  home 
and  so  there  hadn't  been  any  plan  for 
an  'infair'  until,  as  the  Powell  party 
was  riding  part  way  home  with  my 
sisters  and  brother,  they  met  Father 
going  the  other  way  to  mill. 

"Why  don't  you  go  over  to  the 
house  for  your  "infair"  dinner?'  he 
asked.  'It'd  please  Nellie  and  I'll  be 
back  in  an  hour  or  two/ 

"They  took  him  at  his  word  and 
117 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

came,  twenty  of  them,  mind  you. 
And  it  did  please  Nellie,  and  there 
wasn't  any  sending  out  to  a  delicates 
sen  store,  either.  All  of  the  girls, 
including  the  bride,  tied  on  big  aprons 
and  helped  Mother  with  the  dinner; 
and  the  young  men  went  scurrying 
around,  waiting  on  the  girls,  running 
down  to  the  springhouse  with  them, 
or  to  the  orchard  or  to  the  storehouse; 
and  I  tagged  around  after  them,  get 
ting  in  everybody's  way  and  having 
a  beautiful  time. 

"When  Father  came  home  he  took 
the  greatest  kind  of  a  fancy  to  my 
Mr.  Dale,  and  he  talked  to  him  most 
of  the  afternoon  in  spite  of  all  the 
girls  could  do  to  get  the  young  man 
away.  Father  was  always  that  way. 
He  liked  people  or  he  didn't,  and  he 
was  quick  about  making  up  his  mind 
which  it  was  to  be;  so  he  made  Robert 
a  proposition  that  very  day;  and, 
when  the  crowd  was  getting  ready  to 

.1*8 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

leave  late  in  the  afternoon,  he  said  in 
a  casual  sort  of  way: 

"'Robert  isn't  going  North  to 
morrow.  He's  agreed  to  stay  down 
here  and  take  the  school  for  the  winter 
and  make  his  home  with  us.* 

"Glad?  Why,  I  turned  and  ran 
away  to  the  kitchen  for  fear  my  heart 
would  burst  right  before  everybody. 
I  loved  school,  but  we  had  never  had 
a  good  teacher,  and  the  idea  of  study 
ing  with  Robert  Dale  and  having  him 
living  in  our  house  was  so  wonderful 
that  I  was  fairly  mazed  with  it. 

"By-and-by  somebody  came  in  at 
the  kitchen  door,  and,  when  I  looked 
up,  there  was  my  new  teacher. 

"'Aren't  you  going  to  tell  me  that 
you're  glad?'  he  asked;  and  when  I 
stammered  something  about  being 
very  glad,  he  took  my  two  hands  and 
looked  down  at  me  with  that  kind, 
shining  look  of  his  in  his  eyes,  and 
said :  'Well,  Little  Girl,  it  was  the  idea 
119 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

of  training  the  mind  back  of  those 
brown  eyes  of  yours  that  made  me 
agree  to  stay;  so,  you  see,  we  have  to 
be  friends/ 

"He  went  away,  then;  but  he  left 
my  world  all  flooded  with  rose  colour, 
and  the  rose  colour  never  died  out 
until  the  day  when  he  went  away 
again — to  a  far  country." 

A  vision  of  that  far  country  glorified 
the  sweet  old  face,  and  the  listening 
woman  understood  and  was  silent; 
but  the  listening  child  was  busy  with 
child  thoughts  and  had  not  even  no 
ticed  that  a  shadow  had  crept  into 
the  story. 

"Did  you  really  love  school, 
Granny?"  she  asked  incredulously; 
and  the  Little  Old  Lady  came  back  to 
the  world  from  which  the  rose  colour 
had  faded,  though  sunshine  lingered 
in  it  still. 

"Why,  surely,  Child!  We  didn't 
have  to  have  our  education  pepto- 
120 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

nized  and  rammed  down  our  throats 
when  I  was  a  child,  as  you  youngsters 
do  now.  We  were  only  too  glad  to 
get  it  at  all,  and  after  the  new  North 
ern  teacher  came  school  was  like 
Heaven.  It  took  us  some  time  to  get 
used  to  him,  of  course,  because  he  was 
so  different  from  the  teachers  we  had 
had  before,  and  he  had  what  seemed 
to  us  awfully  queer  ideas,  like  not 
allowing  us  to  study  our  spelling  les 
sons  out  loud.  The  big  boys  thought 
that  they  could  bully  him,  because 
he  was  slim  and  low-voiced  and  schol 
arly  looking,  but  they  got  over  that 
notion  mighty  quick,  and  he  ruled  us 
as  nobody  had  ever  ruled  us  before, 
yet  all  the  pupils  adored  him. 

"It  must  have  seemed  queer  to 
him — the  life  and  the  teaching  and 
everything — but  the  doctor  had  told 
him  he  must  get  out  of  his  office  for  a 
year  or  two,  and  the  wholesomeness 
and  peace  of  our  life  down  there  in  the 

121 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

country  had  appealed  to  him  and  he 
seemed  contented.  He  worshipped 
Mother  from  the  start,  and  Father 
and  he  were  great  friends,  though 
they  didn't  agree  on  everything;  and 
the  girls  and  Joe  were  like  sisters  and 
brother  to  him,  but  I  was  his  favour 
ite.  Everybody  realized  that  and 
realized,  too,  that  I  thought  every 
thing  of  him;  but  I  was  only  a  child, 
so  nobody  imagined  that  we  would 
ever  fall  in  love  with  each  other.  The 
idea  never  occurred  to  me. 

"Sakes  alive,  how  I  did  study  that 
winter!  And  how  patiently  he  did 
help  me  in  the  evenings,  when  lessons 
were  too  hard!  He  had  one  of  the 
downstairs  bedrooms  fixed  up  as  a 
study,  with  a  little  bedroom  off  from 
it,  and,  when  I  had  stuck  fast  in  a 
problem,  I'd  go  along  the  hall  and  tap 
at  his  door.  I  never  got  used  to 
hearing  him  say  'Come/  It  always 
seemed  like  a  beautiful  surprise;  but 

122 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

I  would  go  in  and  usually  I'd  find 
him  sitting  by  the  table  with  a  book 
open  before  him  and  his  head  on  his 
hand — a  slender  white  hand  it  was, 
and  he  wore  his  hair  a  little  bit  long 
so  that  it  fell  over  his  fingers.  When 
the  door  opened  he'd  look  up,  and 
a  welcome  would  come  into  his  eyes, 
dark  blue  eyes  they  were  and  they 
could  be  very  serious  and  stern,  but, 
for  me " 

The  Little  Old  Lady's  voice  faltered 
and  broke,  and  she  smoothed  a  white 
petticoat  more  than  was  actually 
necessary  as  she  met  that  look  from 
eyes  that  had  been  closed  so  long; 
but  when  she  went  on  her  voice  was 
cheerful  and  steady  again: 

"He  stayed  with  us  during  the 
summer  that  followed  that  winter, 
and  taught  the  school  a  second  winter; 
but  when  the  second  summer  came 
he  went  back  to  his  home  in  Canada. 
My  heart  was  broken  over  his  going 
123 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

and  I  didn't  care  who  knew  it.  One 
doesn't  have  to  hide  heart-breaks 
at  twelve.  That's  one  of  the  bless- 
edest  things  about  childhood. 

"Mr.  Dale  was  terribly  sorry  for 
me.  I  never  thought  of  calling  him 
'Robert*  then,  though  all  the  rest  of 
the  family  did.  Father  wouldn't 
have  thought  I  was  being  properly 
respectful  to  my  teacher,  and  it 
wasn't  the  fashion  then  for  children 
to  be  disrespectful  to  their  elders. 
Yes,  he  was  mighty  sorry  for  me; 
and  he  petted  me  and  consoled  me 
and  promised  to  write  to  me  and  to 
come  back  and  see  me;  but  I  just 
burrowed  my  head  into  his  shoulder 
and  refused  to  be  comforted.  His 
going  away  was  the  end  of  my  new 
heaven  and  new  earth. 

"After  he  left  I  missed  him  so  much 

that   I   was   downright    ailing   for   a 

while,  and  Mother  gave  me  boneset 

tea    and    made    me    take    sassafras 

124 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

for  my  blood;  but  after  a  few  weeks 
I  cheered  up,  and  then  I  began  getting 
letters  from  him.  That  helped  a 
lot.  Letters  from  anybody  were  an 
event  in  those  days,  and  getting  a 
letter  from  him  was  the  most  exciting 
thing  I  could  imagine.  They  were 
dear  letters,  too — nice,  elder  brotherly 
letters  that  all  the  family  could  read. 

"I  was  fifteen  when  he  came  back 
for  a  summer  visit  and  I  was  quite  a 
slip  of  a  girl,  but  I  still  wore  curls 
and  short  frocks." 

"Were  you  pretty,  Granny?"  asked 
Louise. 

The  Little  Old  Lady  blushed  and 
settled  her  cap. 

"Well,  they  did  say — but  boys  are 
silly  creatures  and  I  didn't  care  what 
they  said  or  thought.  I  was  always 
measuring  them  by  Mr.  Dale  and 
they  didn't  size  up  very  well. 

"Things  were  just  as  they  always 
had  been  between  him  and  me,  yet 

125 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

there  was  a  difference,  too.  I  was 
still  openly  his  pet  and  favourite  and 
he  still  treated  me  as  a  nice  child 
and  flirted  around  with  the  older  girls; 
but  sometimes  I  found  him  looking 
at  me  in  a  surprised  sort  of  way,  and 
he  wouldn't  let  me  fetch  and  carry 
for  him  as  I  had  three  years  before, 
and  he  was  always  on  hand  to  do 
things  for  me  when  I  needed  any 
one. 

"Did  I  tell  you  that  he  played 
the  flute?  Nobody  seems  to  play 
the  flute  now;,  and  I'm  sure  I  can't 
see  why,  for  there's  nothing  else 
so  sweet — to  my  mind.  Robert 
played  beautifully;  and  in  the  even 
ings,  while  he  was  visiting  us  that 
summer,  he  and  I  used  to  sit  out  under 
the  big  weeping-willow  tree  in  the 
side  yard  and  he'd  teach  me  new 
songs.  I  had  a  real  sweet  little  voice 
and  I  could  pick  up  a  tune  quicker 
than  most  people,  and  it  wasn't 
126 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

any  trouble  at  all  for  me  to  remember 
the  words;  so  he  taught  me  dozens 
of  songs  that  were  fashionable  out 
in  the  world,  though  we  hadn't  heard 
them  down  there — 'Araby's  Daugh 
ter/  'Gayly  the  Troubadour'  and 
'Flow  Gently,  Sweet  Afton,'  and  nice, 
sentimental  things  like  that.  The 
things  girls  sing  now  haven't  any 
sentiment,  and  most  of  them  haven't 
any  real  tune,  and  if  they  do  have 
a  tune  it's  usually  a  crazy  one.  You 
can't  imagine  any  one  sitting  out 
under  a  weeping-willow  tree,  on  a 
summer  evening,  and  playing  any 
of  Ruth's  songs  on  a  flute,  now,  can 
you?  But  then,  I  don't  believe  lovers 
ever  do  have  such  peaceful,  happy, 
heartachey-times  together  nowadays 
as  we  had  that  summer.  Sometimes 
I  sit  and  hum  the  old  songs,  when  I'm 
alone  in  the  twilight,  and  I  can 
almost  hear  the  sound  of  Robert's 
flute  and  see  his  face  in  the  dusk. 
127 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

"Camp  meeting  was  going  on  when 
he  went  away  again.  The  grounds 
were  in  a  beach  grove  on  the  corner 
of  Father's  farm,  and  we  went  to  all 
of  the  evening  meetings — everybody 
did.  The  last  night  of  Robert's  visit 
he  went  over  to  the  grounds  early 
with  us,  so  that  he  could  have  a  chance 
to  say  good-bye  to  every  one,  for  he 
was  going  to  ride  over  to  Madison 
that  night  and  take  the  boat  from 
there. 

"Dearie  me,  but  I  was  miserable! 
I  crept  off  into  a  dark  corner  and  sat 
there  while  he  went  around  shaking 
hands  and  talking  and  joking;  and 
I  can  see  how  the  big  fires  on  raised 
platforms  threw  yellow  lights  among 
the  trees,  and  I  can  hear  how  the 
brook  that  ran  along  by  the  camp- 
meeting  grounds  gurgled  and  splashed 
and  tumbled  over  the  rocks,  and  1 
can  remember  just  how  my  heart  came 
up  into  my  throat  when  Robert  stood 
128 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

still  and  looked  all  around,  searching 
for  something,  and  then  started 
toward  my  corner.  I  didn't  say  a 
word  when  he  came — only  looked 
at  him  and  tried  to  choke  the  sobs 
back.  He  put  his  hands  under  my 
arms  and  lifted  me  up  on  one  of  the 
low  benches.  My  face  was  on  a 
level  with  his,  standing  so;  and  he 
looked  into  it  a  long  time  without 
speaking.  Then  he  said: 

"'Little  Girl,  I'm  coming  back  for 
you  one  of  these  days.  Will  you  wait 
for  me  ?  * 

"I  couldn't  say  a  word,  but  I  reckon 
my  face  was  answer  enough;  so  he 
kissed  me  and  went  over  to  where 
his  horse  was  tied  under  a  shed  and  a 
moment  later  I  saw  him  riding  off 
into  the  shadow/* 

"Oh,  Granny,  how  hurtful!" 
sighed  the  small  girl  at  the  Little  Old 
Lady's  knee. 

Granny  nodded. 

129 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

"Yes;  it  was  hurtful.  But  letters 
began  to  come  again.  They  came 
oftener  than  before  and  they  were 
longer  and  different;  but  I  could 
still  let  Father  and  Mother  read  them. 
Girls  would  laugh  at  them  now,  I 
reckon,  and  call  them  stilted  and  old- 
fashioned  because  they  were  full  of 
lofty  sentiments  and  poetical  quota 
tions  and  things  like  that;  but  I 
thought  they  were  beautiful.  I've 
read  them  until  they  are  worn  in 
holes  and  the  ink  has  almost  faded 
away,  but  I  still  think  they  are  the 
most  beautiful  letters  that  ever  were 
written,  and  it  wouldn't  hurt  the 
young  men  who  are  writing  love 
letters  now  to  polish  up  their  style 
a  little.  It's  scandalous  that  college- 
educated  boys  can't  even  write  a 
note  anybody  can  read,  or  that's 
worth  reading  if  one  could  read  it. 
But  then  lovers  send  night  telegrams 
now  instead  of  letters.  They  don't 
130 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

have  time  for  thirty-five-page  letters, 
like  Robert's.  I'm  glad  I  lived  my 
love  story  in  the  old  days. 

"The  letters  came  for  two  years. 
Then  Robert  came  himself,  and  from 
the  very  first  day  everything  was 
different  between  us,  though  he  treated 
me  much  as  he  always  had  and  nobody 
seemed  to  notice  any  difference.  I 
was  still  a  child  to  my  family,  you 
see.  They  didn't  realize  that  I  had 
been  growing  up,  though  Father 
had  set  his  heart  on  my  marrying 
Philip  Becker,  whose  father's  farm 
joined  ours,  when  the  time  should 
come  for  me  to  think  of  marrying. 

"One  evening  we  were  riding  home 
from  church,  a  whole  crowd  of  young 
folks,  and,  when  we  came  to  a  place 
where  the  road  wound  through  the 
woods,  Robert  put  nis  hand  on  my 
horse's  bridle  and  held  him  back 
until  the  rest  of  the  crowd  had  gone 
on  out  of  sight.  And  then  he — well, 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  what  he 
said.  There  are  some  things  one 
can't  tell  even  after  seventy  years, 
but  I  remember  every  word,  and  I 
remember  how  the  wind  rustled  in 
the  trees,  and  how  the  night  creatures 
chirped  and  chattered  and  whirred, 
and  how  the  wet  ferns  and  weeds 
around  a  spring  beside  the  road 
smelled,  and  how  Robert's  face  looked 
in  the  moonlight,  and  how  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life  I  felt  as  though  I 
might  fall  off  of  a  horse.  I  didn't 
fall.  Robert  saw  to  that;  and,  be 
fore  we  galloped  on  to  overtake  the 
others,  I  had  told  him  that  I  would 
marry  him  before  he  went  North 
again,  if  Father  would  consent. 

"When  we  got  home  he  went  to 
Father. 

"Oh,  my  dears,  what  a  storm  there 

was!    The  house  fairly  rocked  with 

it.     Father  said  I  was  a  mere  child, 

and  that  any  man  was  a  fool  to  im- 

132 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

agine  he  would  allow  me  to  marry 
and  go  off  to  the  ends  of  the  earth 
when  I'd  never  been  away  from  home 
overnight,  and  that  he  wouldn't 
allow  me  to  go  so  far  away  with  a 
stranger,  even  when  I  got  old  enough 
to  talk  about  marrying.  He  said 
harder  things,  too.  Father  had  a 
regular  Old  Testament  temper  and 
vocabulary  when  he  really  got  going 
and  he  didn't  mince  words. 

"I  cried,  and  Mother  looked  un 
happy,  and  Bess  was  angry  with 
Father,  and  Joe  went  around  frowning, 
and  altogether  home  wasn't  a  cheer 
ful  place;  but  Robert  was  as  calm  as  a 
May  morning.  He  said  he  didn't 
wonder  that  Father  felt  as  he  did, 
but  that  we  were  going  to  be  married 
just  the  same  and  that  I  mustn't 
worry;  and  he  stayed  on  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  Father  looked  kind 
of  shamefaced  after  a  day  or  two,  and 
he  got  me  a  new  dress  I'd  been  teasing 

133 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

for,  but  nothing  more  was  said  about 
my  marrying  and  I  couldn't  help 
worrying.  I  got  pale  and  thin  that 
summer,  and  Mother  told  me  after 
ward  that  Father  was  anxious  about 
me  and  insisted  upon  her  giving  me 
all  sorts  of  herb  teas;  but  he  wouldn't 
give  in,  and  the  idea  of  disobeying 
him  never  entered  my  head. 

"Poor  Mother  had  a  hard  time. 
She  thought  I  was  too  young  to  marry 
and  she  couldn't  bear  to  think  of  my 
going  off  to  Canada.  It  seemed  ten 
times  as  far  in  those  days  before  rail 
roads  as  it  would  now,  you  know. 
But  she  loved  me  dearly  and  she 
loved  Robert,  and  it  wasn't  in  her  to 
hurt  any  one. 

"Robert  gave  me  a  ring  one  day. 
It  had  been  his  mother's  and  it  was  a 
very  beautiful  one,  but  I  told  him 
Father  would  never  let  me  wear  it. 
He  told  me  to  keep  it  on  and  see  what 
happened.  So  I  wore  it  at  the  supper 

134 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

table,  and  that  evening,  as  I  was  pass 
ing  through  the  hall,  I  heard  Mother 
say  to  Father:  'Robin,  Robert  has 
given  Louise  a  ring,  and  my  advice 
to  you  is  that  you  never  see  it.' 

"That  was  all.  Father  never  did 
see  the  ring.  Mother  was  all  for  the 
New  Testament,  but  she  was  very 
impressive  when  she  asserted  herself. 

"Robert  was  going  to  stay  in 
Madison  with  relatives  for  two  weeks 
before  going  home,  and,  as  the  first 
of  September  came  near  and  Father 
didn't  show  any  signs  of  relenting,  I 
gave  up  hope  and  was  frightfully 
blue  and  unhappy,  but  Robert  said 
he  knew  Father  and  that  the  old 
gentleman  would  come  around  at  the 
eleventh  hour.  The  night  before  he 
went  to  Madison  he  asked  me  to  go 
to  Father  with  him  and  make  a  last 
stand,  and  I  did  it,  though  I  would 
rather  have  faced  a  loaded  cannon. 
But  there  was  only  another  scene. 

135 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

I  had  always  been  afraid  of  Father, 
but  I  took  my  courage  in  both  hands 
that  night  and  told  him  I  would 
never  marry  without  his  consent,  but 
that  I  would  never  marry  any  one 
except  Robert,  and  would  be  utterly 
miserable  every  minute  after  he  left 
me. 

"Father  only  grunted;  so  Robert 
and  I  went  out  of  the  room  and  said 
good-bye. 

"I  certainly  did  grieve  when  he 
had  gone.  My  face  looked  so  white 
and  big-eyed  in  the  looking-glass 
that  I  hardly  knew  it,  and  I  couldn't 
eat,  and  I  went  around  as  though 
I  were  walking  in  my  sleep.  Mother 
was  sad  and  Father  was  gloomy  and 
everything  was  horrid  and  changed 
in  the  home. 

"Then,  one  evening  at  the  end^of 

ten  days,  the  door  opened  and  Robert 

walked  in.     It  seems  he  had  intended 

to  do  it  all  the  time,  but  he  wanted 

136 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

to  let  Father  see  just  how  things  were 
going  to  be,  if  he  did  go  away  to 
Canada  without  me,  and  so  he  hadn't 
even  dared  to  tell  me.  I  don't  know 
who  was  gladdest  to  see  him.  Father 
looked  as  though  he  had  been  re 
prieved  from  the  gallows,  and  Mother 
beamed  and  Bess  jumped  up  and 
kissed  Robert  three  times  and  Joe 
almost  wrung  his  hand  off;  but  I  just 
put  my  hand  up  to  my  throat  and 
never  said  a  word.  It's  funny  how 
your  throat  hurts  when  your  heart's 
overfull. 

"Robert  wasn't  a  bit  embarrassed 
but  after  my  brother  and  sister  had 
slipped  out  of  the  room  he  said  that  he 
had  found  he  couldn't  go  away  with 
out  seeing  me  again,  and  that  he  had 
felt  sure  Father  couldn't  grudge  us  a 
few  hours  more  together  when  all  the 
rest  of  our  lives  were  to  be  sacrificed 
to  his  command.  With  that  I  began 
to  cry,  and  Mother  sprang  to  her  feet 

137 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

and  threw  her  cap  strings  back,  as 
she  always  did  when  she  was  excited 
and  faced  Father. 

:< 'Robin,'  she  said,  'this  will  never 
do!  There's  no  arguing  against  true 
love,  and  I'd  rather  never  see  Louise 
again  and  know  she  was  happy  than 
have  her  with  me  all  my  life  and  know 
her  life  was  spoiled.  We'll  have  no 
more  foolishness  about  it.  Tell  Rob 
ert  he  can  have  the  child  and  your 
blessing  with  her.' 

"Father  opened  and  shut  his  mouth 
once  or  twice  and  tried  to  look  fierce 
and  stubborn,  but  Mother  tapped 
him  on  the  shoulder  and  he  gave 
in.  'I've  nothing  against  you, 
Robert,*  he  said.  'You  may  take 
her;  but  she's  o'er  young  and  foolish. 
You'll  have  to  remember  that  she's 
only  a  child.' 

'"Don't  you  fear,  sir,'  said  Robert. 
'She's     a    woman    child — and    we'll 
be  married  to-morrow!' 
138 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

'"Mercy  be,  Lad!'  said  Mother. 
'She  can't  be  ready.' 

"'Well, then,  Monday/  said  Robert. 
'That  will  give  you  four  days,  and  we 
must  go  on  Tuesday's  boat.  I  can  get 
her  any  finery  she  wants  in  Cincinnati.' 

"And  so  I  had  just  four  days  to 
make  ready  for  my  wedding.  I  had 
never  had  many  clothes  because 
Father  had  thought  I  was  too  young 
for  furbelows;  but  Bess's  things  al 
most  fitted  me  and  she  was  all  ready 
for  a  visit  in  Lexington.  She  was 
angel  good  to  me.  I'll  never  forget 
it.  I  had  her  changeable  silk — brown 
and  blue,  with  rows  and  rows  of 
corded  shirring  for  trimming,  and 
miles  of  silk  in  the  skirt — for  a 
dress-up  gown;  and  I  was  married  in 
her  new  white  muslin,  made  with  short 
puff  sleeves  and  round  neck;  and  her 
blue  poplin  was  a  nice  travelling  dress 
for  me,  and  her  underclothes  added  to 
mine  made  a  very  respectable  show- 

139 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

ing — good,  serviceable,  hand-woven 
linen  underclothes,  too,  not  much  like 
this  foolish,  flimsy  stuff  of  Ruth's. 

"Father  always  gave  each  child 
who  married  ten  cattle  and  ten  sheep 
and  ten  pigs  and  a  horse  and  a  saddle, 
but  we  couldn't  take  all  those  with 
us  and  wouldn't  have  had  any  place 
for  them,  anyway,  because  we  were 
going  to  live  in  a  town,  so  Father 
gave  me  money  instead;  but  he  felt  so 
dreadfully  about  my  not  having  my 
own  horse  and  saddle  that  Robert 
finally  made  arrangements  to  have 
them  sent  up  to  us.  Mother  packed 
my  feather  beds  and  pillows,  and 
house  linen,  and  I  put  my  few  treas 
ures  in  my  brand-new,  little  horsehair 
trunk,  and  on  Monday  afternoon  the 
old  minister,  who  had  ridden  that 
circuit  ever  since  I  was  born,  married 
me  to  Robert  in  our  parlour,  with 
npbodyjexcept  the  family  looking  on. 

"Bess  and  Joe  and  Father  cried 
140 


HER  LOVE  STORY 

when  I  left,  but  Mother  didn't.  Not 
Mother!  Her  cheeks  were  very  red 
and  her  eyes  were  very  bright  when 
she  went  down  the  path  to  the  gate  with 
us;  but  she  smiled  when  she  kissed  me 
good-bye  and  when  she  put  her  hands 
on  Robert's  shoulders  and  said :  'God 
bless  you,  Son.  Be  good  to  her.' 

"There  never  was  any  one  like 
Mother." 

The  Little  Old  Lady's  voice  trailed 
off  into  silence,  and  for  a  while  there 
was  no  sound  save  the  ticking  of  the 
clock  that  was  marking  off  the  hours 
before  another  wedding  day. 

"Well,  it  wasn't  much  like  Ruth's 
story,"  said  little  Louise,  after  a 
thinking  time  unusually  long  for  her, 
"but  I  sort  of  love  it,  Granny." 

Granny  smiled. 

"It's    a    very    old-fashioned    love 
story,  dear;  but   Ruth  can't  have  a 
happier  honeymoon  at  Palm  Beach 
than  I  had  at  Niagara." 
141 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  Big  Christmas  Present  That  Came 
Into  Her  Home 

CHRISTMAS  EVE  had  come 
and  was  almost  gone.    There 
was     no     chance     for     more 
eleventh-hour  shopping.     The  Christ 
mas  letters  and  cards  had  been  posted. 
The  packages  that  had  not  already 
gone  by  express  or  messenger  were 
all  wrapped  and  tied  in  festive  fashion 
and  piled  neatly  in  various  rooms  of 
the  apartment. 

Mrs.  Robert  Dale  dropped  into  a 
big  armchair  and  sighed  eloquently. 
"I'm  an  absolute  wreck,"  she  ad 
mitted,   "but   I   think  everything  is 
done.     I  do  wish  I  had  sent  Milly 
142 


THE  CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 

the  tray  instead  of  the  muffineer. 
She's  almost  sure  to  send  me  some 
thing  much  more  expensive  than  the 
muffineer.  And,  now  that  it's  too 
late  to  get  anything,  I  feel  positive 
that  Clara  Bates  will  send  me  a  pres 
ent  to-morrow.  There's  no  earthly 
reason  why  she  should,  but  I  feel  it 
coming  on,  and  I  never  even  thought 
of  her  when  I  was  making  out  my  list. 
Maybe  there  will  be  something  among 
my  presents  in  the  morning — from 
someone  I  don't  care  about,  you 
know — that  I  can  send  around  to  her 
just  by  way  of  making  sure." 

"Did  you  get  your  furs  to-day?" 
asked  the  head  of  the  family  from  his 
place  on  the  couch. 

"Robert,  I  couldn't — I  simply 
couldn't!  I  was  so  tired  I  could 
hardly  wriggle,  and  there  were  a 
million  last  things,  more  or  less,  that 
I  had  to  do,  and  I  had  positively 
promised  to  be  at  the  candy  table 

143 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

of  the  Hospital  Bazaar  from  two  to 
four.  But  I  have  the  check,  dear. 
That's  just  the  same,  and  I  can  choose 
my  furs  after  Christmas  when  the 
stores  won't  be  so  crowded  and  I  won't 
be  so  mortally  tired  and  things  will  be 
marked  down." 

"That's  not  my  idea  of  a  Christmas 
present,"  grumbled  the  husband. 
"I'd  rather  have  something  in  my 
pocket  that  you  didn't  know  anything 
about  and  surprise  you  with  it 
Christmas  morning." 

A  look  of  consternation  swept  over 
Mrs.  Dale's  tired  face. 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Bob,  don't 
ever  take  to  surprising  me  with 
Christmas  presents!  We  can't  afford 
it.  I  need  too  many  things  to  let 
you  spend  a  lot  of  money  on  some 
thing  I  probably  wouldn't  need  and 
might  not  even  like.  I'd  much  rather 
have  a  check." 

A  muffled  protest  sounded  from 
144 


THE  CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 

the  couch — something  about  that 
sort  of  Christmas  giving  being  no 
more  fun  than  paying  the  butcher's 
bill. 

It  brought  the  nerve-worn  woman 
in  the  big  chair  to  the  verge  of  tears. 

"Well,  you  are  always  wishing  I 
were  more  economical  and  practical, 
and  when  I  do  try  to  be  practical  you 
say  I  haven't  any  sentiment;  and  I'm 
sure  nobody  works  harder  over  Christ 
mas  than  I  do!" 

The  tears  were  very  near  the  surface 


now. 

M 


Christmas  is  frightfully  expensive, 
anyway.  Everybody  expects  so  much 
of  one  and  most  of  our  friends  and 
relatives  have  more  money  than  we 
have,  and  even  little  things  do  mount 
up." 

"There,  there!"  The  husband's 
tone  was  of  the  "Heaven  give  me 
strength"  variety,  usually  adopted 
by  the  man  who  is  being  patient  with 

US 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

a  nervous  and  unreasonable  wife. 
"I  didn't  say  you  were  extravagant 
or  that  you  hadn't  any  sentiment. 
I  was  only  wishing  we  all  had  a  little 
more  real  sentiment  about  this  Christ 
mas  business  and  went  in  less  for 
flubdub.  The  fault  isn't  yours,  Sally. 
We  all  work  ourselves  to  fiddle  strings 
and  spend  more  than  we  can  afford, 
and  only  succeed  in  spoiling  Christ 
mas.  I'll  bet  things  were  different 
down  at  Grandfather's.  Weren't  they, 
Mother?" 

The  Little  Old  Lady  smiled. 

"Very  different,  dear,  and  better 
I  think.  But  then,  I  know  I'm  fool 
ish  about  the  old  times  down  there. 
Everything  about  them  seems  better 
to  me — except  children  and  grand 
children.  No  generation  ever  did 
show  children  and  grandchildren  to 
beat  mine." 

She  laughed  lightly  at  her  own  prej 
udice,  and  the  tension  in  the  room 
146 


THE  CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 

lessened.  Tension  never  lasted  long 
in  the  same  room  with  the  Little  Old 
Lady. 

"There's  one  thing  sure,  Sally," 
she  went  on,  her  eyes  turned  lovingly 
toward  the  daughter-in-law  who  had 
worn  herself  out  in  the  cause  of  the 
modern  Christmas.  "No  one  in  the 
old  days  could  have  worked  harder 
to  do  her  duty  than  you  have  this 
last  month.  I  don't  wonder  you 
are  tired.  It's  a  mercy  you  aren't 
sick  in  bed — and  if  what  you've  done 
hasn't  been  for  the  best  happiness 
of  every  one  concerned  that  isn't  your 
fault.  You've  done  your  duty  as 
you  saw  it,  and  I  do  think  you've  ac 
complished  wonders." 

The  daughter-in-law's  face  light 
ened.  Appreciation  is  a  wonderful 
emollient  for  ragged  nerves. 

"Weren't  people  dead  tired  on 
Christmas  Eve  when  you  were  young, 
Mother?"  she  asked. 

H7 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

The  Little  Old  Lady's  brain  and 
heart  were  straightway  so  busy  with 
memories  of  a  great  old  farmhouse 
living-room,  where  candlelight  and 
the  flames  of  huge  firelogs  shone  on 
happy  faces  and  fought  with  flickering 
shadows,  that  she  quite  forgot  to 
answer  the  question;  and  it  was  only 
when  Louise,  the  small  granddaughter, 
spoke  that  she  came  back,  with  a 
start,  to  the  electric-lighted,  steam- 
heated  room  perched  high  above  the 
city  streets. 

"Didn't  you  have  any  Christmas 
presents,  Granny?" 

The  Little  Old  Lady  answered 
both  questions  together. 

"Why,  yes,  we  did  have  Christmas 
presents,  but  such  very  simple  ones 
that  there  wasn't  much  stress  or  strain 
about  getting  them  ready,  and  we 
very  seldom  exchanged  presents  with 
any  one  outside  our  own  family,  so 
no  one's  list  could  be  long.  It  was 
148 


THE  CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 

rather  an  exceptional  thing  for  the 
grown-ups  to  give  each  other  presents 
at  all,  and  even  among  us  children 
presents  weren't  the  whole  meaning 
of  Christmas,  as  they  seem  to  be  now. 
Jollity  and  good  will  and  general 
merrymaking  were  the  things  that 
made  Christmas,  and  then,  back 
of  it  all,  was  the  real  reason  for  peace 
on  earth  and  good  will  toward  men. 
I  don't  believe  we  lost  sight  of  that 
as  completely  as  most  folks  do  now. 
Maybe  we  children  would  have  slurred 
over  the  religious  side  of  the  festival 
if  we  had  been  allowed  to  do  it,  but 
we  weren't  likely  to  have  the  chance 
— not  in  Father's  home,  and  most  of 
the  homes  in  our  neighbourhood  were 
like  his  in  that  respect. 

"Everybody  wasn't  so  sternly  re 
ligious  as  Father,  but  religion  was  a 
part  of  every-day  living  then.  It's 
a  sort  of  Sunday  affair  now,  where  it 
hasn't  dropped  out  of  sight  altogether; 
149 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

at  least  orthodox  religion  is.  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  there  were  a 
mighty  lot  of  good  Gospel  religion 
going  on  nowadays  without  calling 
itself  religion  at  all.  I  try  to  think 
about  that  when  I  see  how  people 
I  know  have  fallen  away  from  the 
old  religious  ways.  I  reckon  it's 
what  you  live,  not  what  you  believe 
or  say,  that  counts  as  grace,  but  it 
certainly  does  seem  to  me  as  if  the 
Christ  Child's  birth  had  been  pretty 
well  lost  sight  of  in  Christmas  cele 
brating.  Christmas  might  as  well 
be  Saint  Valentine's  Day  or  May 
Day  or  any  other  holiday,  except 
that  everybody  is  more  extravagant 
and  more  tired  at  Christmastime." 

"Did  you  go  to  church  all  day 
Christmas,  Granny?"  The  small 
girl's  eyes  were  wide  with  pity,  and 
Granny  laughed  as  she  met  the  look. 

"No,  indeed — only  for  an  hour  in 
the  morning,  and  then  of  course  we 

ISO 


THE  CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 

had  family  prayers  in  the  morning  and 
the  evening;  but  the  Christmas  mean 
ing  was  in  the  air.  Sometimes  I'd 
stop  to  think  why  I  was  so  happy, 
and  I'd  decide  it  was  partly  my  new 
mittens  and  partly  because  Christ 
was  born.  I  wasn't  very  serious- 
minded,  just  a  normal,  grubby, 
healthy  little  girl;  but  I  didn't  forget 
about  Christ  being  born,  you  see, 
even  if  I  did  mix  it  up  with  new 
mittens;  and  I've  an  idea  that's  a 
pretty  good  way  to  live — just  taking 
your  religion  and  your  mittens  along 
together." 

"Did  you  always  get  mittens, 
Granny?" 

"Mercy,  yes!  Christmas  wouldn't 
have  been  Christmas  without  new 
mittens — and  wristlets — and  com 
forters — and  hoods.  Grandmother 
used  to  knit  them  for  us.  She  always 
did  the  knitting  for  the  family,  but  for 
a  month  or  so  before  Christmas  she 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

would  be  very  mysterious  about  what 
she  was  doing — cover  up  her  knitting 
if  any  of  us  children  came  in,  and 
sometimes  go  to  her  own  room  to  knit 
instead  of  sitting  in  her  own  particular 
corner  by  the  fireplace.  Christmas 
things  were  always  in  special  fancy 
stitches  and  unusual  colours.  Grand 
mother  would  send  to  Louisville  for 
the  yarns  sometimes  instead  of  spin 
ning  and  dyeing  them,  and  we  were 
as  excited  over  those  mittens  and 
wristlets  as  you'd  be  over  getting  a 
pony  or  a  piano. 

"Mother  would  usually  make  some 
thing  for  us,  too,  and  then  she  would 
persuade  Father  into  buying  us  little 
things  that  weren't  too  serious.  His 
taste  rather  ran  to  new  slates  and  very 
useful  presents  like  that,  but  Mother 
understood  children  better.  We  had 
stick  candy  on  Christmas  and  thought 
it  was  wonderful,  though  it  wasn't 
half  so  good  as  the  maple  sugar  and 

152 


THE  CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 

nut  candy  we  made  ourselves;  and 
each  of  us  had  an  orange.  That  was 
a  very  special  treat,  and  long  before 
Christmas  we'd  usually  bargain  off  our 
Christmas  oranges.  Joe  almost  al 
ways  got  mine.  I  never  was  very 
forehanded,  and  when  I  wanted  some 
thing  from  him  I'd  promise  him  my 
Christmas  orange  for  it.  That  was 
all  right  when  Christmas  was  a  long 
way  off,  but  when  Christmas  morning 
came  and  I  had  to  take  my  orange  out 
of  the  toe  of  my  stocking  and  hand  it 
over — dear  me,  what  a  trial  it  was! 
I  will  say  for  Joe,  though,  that  he  us 
ually  gave  me  part  of  it. 

"He  got  a  jew's-harp  every  Christ 
mas.  That  was  the  thing  he  wanted 
most  and  the  old  jew's-harp  was  al 
ways  used  up  before  the  new  one  was 
due,  so  nobody  had  to  do  any  worry 
ing  over  what  to  get  for  him." 

"But  didn't  you  ever  get  any  big 
presents?"  Mittens  and  jew's-harps 

153 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

and  oranges  were  not  Louise's  idea 
of  Christmas  riches.  Granny's  eyes 
twinkled. 

"You  never  got  a  present  in  your 
pampered  little  life,  dearie,  that 
looked  as  big  to  you  as  an  orange 
looked  to  me  or  as  a  jew's-harp  looked 
to  Joe;  yet,  mind  you,  we  weren't 
poor  folk.  Father  was  worth  more 
money  than  your  father  is  to-day  and 
we  lived  well,  as  living  went  in  those 
days.  Ideas  of  necessities  and  luxuries 
were  different,  that's  all,  and  I'm 
thinking  that's  why  there  wasn't 
any  groaning  about  the  high  cost  of 
living. 

"We  did  have  a  big  present  one 
year,  though — the  biggest  kind  of  a 
present." 

The  child  of  a  more  extravagant 
day  looked  tremendously  relieved. 
It  had  been  terrible  to  think  that  the 
Christmas  joys  of  so  dear  a  grand 
mother  had  been  bounded  on  the 

154 


THE  CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 

north  by  new  mittens  and  on  the 
south  by  an  orange. 

"What  was  it,  Granny?"  The 
voice  and  eyes  were  eager. 

"Well"— the  Little  Old  Lady 
smoothed  the  black  silk  over  her  knees 
and  her  story-telling  look  came  into 
her  face — "it  happened  on  Christmas 
Eve.  Father  had  ridden  over  to  the 
village  to  get  something  Mother 
wanted,  but  Grandmother  and 
Mother  and  my  two  sisters  and 
Brother  Joe  and  Lizzie,  the  hired 
help,  and  I  were  at  home  in  the  big 
living-room  and  having  a  beautiful 
time.  We  children  had  trimmed  the 
room  with  green  boughs  and  berries 
and  there  were  dozens  of  extra  can 
dles  lighted  and  the  Yule  log  in  the 
fireplace  was  so  big  that  two  men  had 
hardly  been  able  to  walk  it  in.  We 
always  did  have  backlogs  too  big  to  be 
carried,  you  know,  and  when  one  was 
needed  the  men  laid  a  wide  board 

155 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

down  on  the  floor  from  the  door  to  the 
fireplace  and  walked  the  log  along  it. 
Nobody  ever  sees  such  a  fire  now  as 
was  roaring  up  our  chimney  that 
night. 

"There  were  dishes  of  apples  and 
nuts  on  the  table — beech  nuts  and 
chestnuts  and  butternuts  and  walnuts. 
Bushels  and  bushels  of  them  were  al 
ways  stored  in  the  attic  each  autumn. 

"The  girls  had  made  a  pan  of  but 
ternut  maple  taffy,  and  Mother  had 
set  out  a  plate  of  fresh  crullers  and 
cookies,  and  a  pitcher  of  sweet  cider 
was  waiting  for  Father.  Joe  and  I 
were  popping  corn — not  in  a  popper. 
I  don't  believe  poppers  had  been  in 
vented  then  and  we  popped  our  corn 
in  one  of  the  sheet-iron  baking-ovens 
that  Mother  used  for  cooking  in  the 
big  fireplace.  There  wasn't  a  stove 
in  the  house  until  years  later.  We'd 
put  the  corn  in  the  oven  and  shut  it  up 
tight  and  set  it  on  the  coals,  and  pretty 
156 


THE  CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 

soon  there'd  be  a  tremendous  clatter, 
and  when  the  noise  stopped  we  knew 
the  corn  was  all  popped. 

"I  remember  the  corn  was  banging 
against  the  sides  of  the  oven  that 
night,  when  we  heard  a  horse  gallop 
along  the  road  and  stop  in  front  of  the 
house  and  we  knew  Father  had  come. 
Then  a  few  moments  later  he  came 
along  the  porch,  stamping  the  snow 
off  his  boots,  and  opened  the  door. 

"I  can  see  him  as  plainly  as  I  did 
then — so  tall  and  broad-shouldered 
that  he  fairly  filled  the  doorway,  his 
wide-brimmed  hat  and  his  bright 
blue,  brass-buttoned  cape  coat  all 
powdered  with  snow,  and  his  face 
shining  with  love  as  he  looked  in  at  us. 
Even  Father  sloughed  off  all  his  stern 
ness  at  Christmastime. 

"He  came  in,  shaking  himself  and 
laughing,  and  stood  with  his  broad  back 
to  the  fire,  rubbing  his  chilled  fingers. 
Dearie  me,  how  it  all  comes  back." 

157 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

The  Little  Old  Lady  wandered  off 
into  dreams,  but  her  granddaughter 
called  her  back. 

"But  the  Christmas  present, 
Granny?" 

"Oh,  yes;  the  Christmas  present! 
I  mustn't  forget  that.  Well,  Father 
stood  there  smiling  at  each  of  us  in 
turn  until  he  came  to  Mother.  He 
had  a  very  special  sort  of  a  smile  for 
Mother  always,  and  this  Christmas 
Eve  it  was  even  more  special  than 
usual.  He  was  happy  and  at  peace 
in  his  home,  with  his  wife  and  his  chil 
dren  and  his  mother  gathered  around 
the  hearth,  and  he  was  a  man  to  realize 
his  blessings  and  be  thankful  for  them. 

"But  all  of  a  sudden  a  little  shadow 
crossed  his  face.  'Nellie/  he  said,  'I 
came  mighty  near  bringing  you  a 
Christmas  gift/ 

"Mother  laughed.  'Near  isn't 

near  enough,  Robin,'  she  said.     'Why 
didn't  you  bring  it?' 
158 


THE  CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 

"'I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't  like 
it.'  Father's  voice  was  serious.  We 
all  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise,  and 
Mother  got  up  out  of  her  chair  and 
walked  over  to  him. 

"'What  was  it,  Robin?'  she  asked 
in  a  puzzled  way. 

"'Another  child,  Nellie — such  a  piti 
ful  little  shaver!  When  I  went  into 
the  store  he  was  there,  sitting  on  a 
soapbox  in  a  corner — the  thinnest, 
raggedest,  dirtiest  little  scrap  of  a 
fellow,  with  big,  miserable  eyes  in  a 
white  face.  Belden,  from  down  Mor 
ris  way,  had  brought  him — taking 
him  up  to  the  poorhouse  at  Madison, 
but  his  horse  went  lame  to-day  and 
he  had  to  lay  up. 

"'Mad  as  a  hornet  Belden  was — 
said  he  had  calculated  to  spend  Christ 
mas  with  his  sister  in  Madison,  but 
now  he  couldn't  get  there  before 
afternoon.  He  was  going  to  spend 
the  night  with  Si,  and  the  boy  was  to 

159 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

sleep  alone  in  the  back  of  the  store. 
Seems  he'd  been  living  with  his  mother 
in  a  little  woodsman's  cabin  since  his 
father  ran  away  and  left  them  last 
year.  They'd  have  been  looked  after 
if  they  had  lived  around  here,  but  the 
Morris  folks  didn't  rightly  know  how 
poor  they  were  and  the  mother  was 
poison  proud  and  wouldn't  ask  for 
help.  So  they  starved  along  until 
she  got  pneumonia  and  died  Saturday. 

'  'The  boy  went  for  someone  then, 
but  it  was  too  late  to  do  anything 
except  bury  the  poor  woman  and 
make  some  provision  for  the  boy. 
Nobody  around  there  wanted  to  take 
him  in,  so  the  poorhouse  seemed  to  be 
the  only  thing,  but  it  sort  of  broke  me 
all  up — Christmas  time,  you  know, 
and  his  mother  just  dead,  and  such  a 
little  chap!" 

"Mother's  face  was  all  a-quiver 
and  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  'Robin 
King/  she  said,  taking  hold  of  Father's 
1 60 


THE  CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 

coat  lapels  and  giving  him  a  little 
shake.  'Go  get  that  boy  for  me.  Go 
get  him  at  once.  I'm  ashamed  of 
you!' 

"'But  you  have  so  much  to  do  now, 
Nellie,'  Father  said,  putting  his  big 
hands  over  hers. 

"'A  woman  can't  have  too  much 
mothering  to  do.  Go  quick,  Robin. 
Missing  his  mother!  And  on  his  way 
to  the  poorhouse!  And  sleeping  alone 
in  the  store!  And  Christmas  Eve! 
Hurry,  Robin,  hurry!' 

"She  fairly  pushed  him  out  of  the 
door,  but  he  stooped  to  kiss  her  before 
he  went  and  he  held  her  close  for  a 
minute. 

"They  understood  each  other,  those 
two. 

"You  can  imagine  how  excited  we 
all  were.  I  reckon  I  danced  from  one 
foot  to  the  other  for  the  whole  hour 
that  Father  was  gone,  but  at  last  we 
heard  hoofs  coming  fast  through  the 
161 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

night — clippity  clap,  clippity  clap! — 
and  then  Father  came  stamping  along 
the  porch  and  opened  the  door  and 
stood  in  the  doorway  again,  but  this 
time  he  unwrapped  his  big  blue  coat 
from  around  a  little  boy  and  set  him 
down  on  the  floor.  All  eyes,  the  child 
seemed — an4  oh,  such  miserable, 
frightened  eyes  in  such  a  peaked, 
white  face — eyes  that  didn't  believe 
in  happiness  or  in  home  or  in  Christ 
mas. 

"Mother  gave  just  one  pitying  little 
cry  and  flew  for  him. 

"All  the  motherhood  in  the  world 
was  in  her  look  when  she  gathered 
him  into  her  arms;  and  he  hid  his  face 
against  her  shoulder,  as  though  he 
knew  he  needn't  be  afraid  any  longer. 

"She  carried  him  off  to  the  summer 
kitchen  without  a  word  to  any  of  the 
rest  of  us;  and,  when  we  started  to 
follow,  Father  said:  'Stay  here, 
Chicks.1  So  we  stayed,  but  I  nearly 
162 


THE  CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 

died  of  excitement  and  curiosity  in  the 
next  half  hour. 

Finally  Mother  came  back  with 
the  boy  clinging  to  her  hand.  We 
hardly  knew  him.  He  had  been  fed 
and  scoured  and  his  hair  had  been 
cut  and  he  was  dressed  in  clothes  Joe 
had  worn  at  his  age;  but  it  was  in  his 
eyes  that  Mother  had  worked  the 
biggest  change.  There  was  no  fright 
or  misery  in  them  now — only  a  shy, 
shining  faith  that  would  grow  to 
happiness — the  look  of  a  child  that 
had  been  mothered. 

"Mother  sat  down  in  her  chair  and 
took  the  boy  on  her  lap.  'That's 
your  Granny,  over  there  in  the  corner, 
dear,'  she  said.  'And  these  are  your 
little  brothers  and  sisters,  and  this  is 
your  home/ 

"He    believed    it.     Since    he    had 

found  her  he  was  ready  to  believe  in 

any  wonderful,  good  thing.     She  held 

him  in  her  arms,  while  Father  read 

163 


OUR  LITTLE  OLD  LADY 

us  the  story  about  the  shepherds 
keeping  watch  over  their  flocks  by 
night,  and  about  the  Babe  of  Bethle 
hem;  and,  every  once  in  a  while,  the 
boy  would  look  up  into  Mother's  face 
to  see  if  these  wonderful  things  were 
true,  too. 

"'A  blessed  Christmas  Child  like 
you,  dearie,'  she  said,  when  the  read 
ing  ended. 

"He  hadn't  had  a  word  to  say,  but 
he  spoke  up  then.  'Aw,  shucks!'  he 
said;  'He  was  only  a  baby.  I'm  a  big 
boy.  I'm  most  six.' 

"Father  was  sort  of  shocked,  but 
Mother  understood.  'So  you  are, 
Honey,'  she  said,  'and  so  you're  going 
to  be  the  greatest  possible  help  and 
comfort  to  me.' 

"He  was,  too,  a  help  and  comfort 
to  her  as  long  as  she  lived,  and  the 
very  best  Christmas  present  any 
family  ever  had." 

"But  it  was  a  big  risk,"  commented 
164 


THE  CHRISTMAS  PRESENT 

the  head  of  the  family,  who  didn't 
believe  in  adopting  children. 

The  Little  Old  Lady  looked  at  him 
tolerantly.  "It's  plain  to  be  seen, 
Robin,"  she  said,  "that  you  don't 
remember  your  grandmother.  There 
wasn't  any  risk  in  a  mothering  job 
when  she  undertook  it." 


THE   END 


165 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


000114102 


